The Grief of Losing a Fur Baby

Before you dive too deep into this post, if you’ve lost a pet recently it could be difficult to read, or you could keep reading because it could be helpful to know you’re not alone.

Grief is an interesting thing. The actual definition is, “deep sorrow, especially that caused by someone’s death.” People deal with grief in different ways, frequently crying, bottling it up and letting it escape as anger and irritation, retreating from their emotions, and others deal with it by trying to fill the hole left by the loved one’s death. Grieving for a pet is different for most than grieving for a human loved one. Pets are such a huge part of their owner’s heart and soul, most of the time it is devastating losing a pet.

I know this is a horse blog, but many of the equestrians I know are also dog owners. For many of us, our fur babies mean more to us than anything else on this planet, whether it’s a horse, dog, cat, or another animal. Losing them is like losing part of your soul, and it leaves a deep, aching hole that feels like it can’t be filled. This is how I’ve been feeling lately.

One month ago, my family had to put my dog, Nica, down. She was an 11 year old Golden Retriever, and the best dog on the planet. She was my supporter through everything, good or bad, always there to give unconditional love. Nica was our fishing buddy, gardening assistant, kong chaser, olympic swimmer, car buddy, walking buddy, snow removal supervisor, a shoulder to cry on, a friend to celebrate with, and so much more. Her cuteness was unmatched, you could get lost in her eyes, and her beautiful coat was perfect for petting and snuggling.

We celebrated her 11th birthday on February 2nd. She still had puppy-like energy and barely had any gray. We thought she had so much time left with us, and were optimistic she would be with us for many years to come. In early March, she started to lose her appetite. This was very out of character for the dog who scarfed down her food every mealtime. My mom took her to our vet for a blood test and our worst fears were confirmed. Like our first Golden, Ginger, Nica had developed cancer. After further blood tests, we learned it was acute leukemia, and our vet said she wouldn’t be surprised if we brought her in within the week to put her down. We started her on some prednisone to try and get her eating and comfortable, and prepared for the worst, yet hoped for the best.

After a couple days on the prednisone, things started to look up. She was eating again and seemed back to her old self. We were lucky to have her for another month, giving her extra loving, extra treats and snacks, sharing our chips, cheese crackers, green beans, bananas, and cheese with her. But one Sunday night, she started hesitating going down the three stairs from the house to the garage to get outside. I thought she might be sore from the long walk we went on, and the kong chasing we did the day before, but I had a sinking feeling in my gut. By mid-week, we had to get a harness to help her walk, and by the following Saturday, she told us she was done fighting. All four legs were failing, she couldn’t move at all on her own, and she had this look in her eyes that told us she was ready. I can’t explain it, but we just knew.

Saturday was a rainy day, almost as if God was crying with us. We took our final trip in the car with her to the vet, me comforting her and trying to distract her with her kong on the ride there, as car rides were not her favorite. Once we got her into the room, she rested her head on my lap, and with the vet’s help, she felt pain no more and passed in my arms. I don’t think I’ve ever cried as hard as I did when she was gone. I felt as if a part of my soul died with her. It took me a really long time before I could unwrap my arms from around her, lay her head on the blanket, take one last look at her, and leave. I’ll never forget how that moment felt.

Returning to an empty house was excruciating. We kept hearing her tags jingle, her panting, her nails clicking on the hardwood, and we kept seeing her out of the corner of our eyes. Her bowls, beds, and toys were, and still are, a painful reminder of what we lost. Even now, I tear up because the house is so empty without her, yet the memories we made are everywhere.

Even though it’s been a month now, I still get hit with grief frequently. It still takes my breath away and makes my chest hurt. Our first trip up to the cabin to fish was filled with sorrow and tears. I didn’t have my car buddy, fishing buddy, cabin buddy, and snuggle buddy. She wasn’t there to bark at the cows, watch for deer with us, run down the driveway, and hang out on the deck or by the bonfire. It was very different without her.

As much pain as I’ve been feeling, there are some things that have somewhat helped me. Talking with friends and family who’ve experienced the loss of a pet, has helped. It reminds me that I’m not alone and it affirms how I’m feeling, how devastated I am. Sharing my experience makes it easier to talk about, and I know we made the right decision. Remembering the good times and reminiscing with my family about her helps the pain be slightly less. The photos of those memories put a smile on my face, but sometimes the tears do flow when that grief hits again. 

We’ve also created some items to help us always remember her. I had necklace charms made from her paw prints so we can always have her close to her hearts at all times. My mom and I made clay molds of her paws to put with a photo collage. I also collected some of her beautiful coat to put in small jars with her name on them. We put these memories, along with her ashes, by the window she always watched through. 

I’ve also found that crying is a great way to release that grief and sadness. I cried while writing this post because it’s still hard for me to come to terms with the fact that she’s gone. Part of my healing process was also searching for a new puppy. I’ve had a dog for over 20 years now and I’ve found it almost impossible to live without one. Distracting myself with that as well as researching puppy training to prepare for a potential new puppy has been really helpful.

No matter how much pain and grief I’m feeling, I’m happy I could support Nica until the end. She gave me 11 amazing years of unconditional love, and even though it was the most difficult thing I’ve ever done, she deserved my love and support all the way until her heart stopped beating. We owe that to these amazing creatures who are always there to greet us when we get home, support us on our worst days, celebrate our best days, and be with us through this journey of life. It’s only fair we are there for their entire journey, no matter how hard the end is. I’ll never stop missing Nica, but I know I have countless memories of her to comfort me.