Category: Pets

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Why mourning a pet can be harder than grieving for a person

People are often taken aback by the intensity of pet grief.

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Many pet owners know that our connections with animals can be on an emotional par with those we share with other humans – and scientific research backs this up.

The key ingredients of human attachment are experiencing the other person as a dependable source of comfort, seeking them out when distressed, feeling enjoyment in their presence and missing them when apart. Researchers have identified these as features of our relationships with pets too.

But there are complexities. Some groups of people are more likely to develop intimate bonds with their pets. This includes isolated older people, people who have lost trust in humans, and people who rely on assistance animals.

Researchers have also found our connections with our fluffy, scaled and feathered friends come with a price, in that we grieve the loss of our pets. But some aspects of pet grief are unique.

Euthanasia

For many people, pet death may be the only experience they have of grief connected to euthanasia. Guilt or doubt over a decision to euthanise a cherished companion animal can complicate grief. For example, research has found that disagreements within families about whether it is (or was) right to put a pet to sleep can be particularly challenging.

But euthanasia also gives people a chance to prepare for a beloved animal’s passing. There is a chance to say goodbye and plan final moments to express love and respect such as a favourite meal, a night in together or a last goodbye.

There are stark differences in people’s responses to pet euthanasia. Israeli research found that in the aftermath of euthanised pet death, 83% of people feel certain they made the right decision. They believed they had granted their animal companion a more honourable death that minimised suffering.

Man on bench looking at the ground holding a dog leash
Pet grief can make people turn inwards.

However, a Canadian study found 16% of participants in their study whose pets were euthanised “felt like murderers”. And American research has shown how nuanced the decision can be as 41% of participants in a study felt guilty and 4% experienced suicidal feelings after they consented to their animal being euthanised. Cultural beliefs, the nature and intensity of their relationship, attachment styles and personality influence people’s experience of pet euthanasia.

Disenfranchised grief

This type of loss is still less acceptable socially. This is called disenfranchised grief, which refers to losses that society doesn’t fully appreciate or ignores. This makes it harder to mourn, at least in public.

Older man holding pet dog outside
Older people often more isolated which makes their pets an important source of comfort.

Psychologists Robert Neiymeyer and John Jordan said disenfranchised grief is a result of an empathy failure. People deny their own pet grief because a part of them feels it is shameful. This isn’t just about keeping a stiff upper lip in the office or at the pub. People may feel pet grief is unacceptable to certain members of their family, or to the family more generally.

And at a wider level, there may be a mismatch between the depth of pet grief and social expectations around animal death. For example, some people may react with contempt if someone misses work or takes leave to mourn a pet.

Research suggests that when people are in anguish over the loss of a pet, disenfranchised grief makes it more difficult for them to find solace, post-traumatic growth and healing. Disenfranchised grief seems to restrain emotional expression in a way that makes it harder to process.

Our relationships to our pets can be as meaningful as those we share with each other. Losing our pets is no less painful, and our grief reflects that. There are dimensions of pet grief we need to recognise as unique. If we can accept pet death as a type of bereavement, we can lessen people’s suffering. We’re only human, after all.

Complete Article ↪HERE↩!

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Visiting Mariah Carey’s Cat’s Grave

— Reflections on Disenfranchised Grief

E.B. Bartels on the Particular Sorrow of Losing a Pet

The grave I was looking for was in a quiet back corner of the cemetery, surrounded by trees. I was grateful for the shade—it was August in Westchester County, and the place was hot. Asphalt pathways criss-crossed rows of blinding granite headstones; my black dress clung to the sweat on my back. I’d spent the afternoon walking up and down the paths of this four-acre cemetery. Bright spots of metallic pinwheels, Mylar balloons, and neon stuffed animals decorated the headstones. Flowers wilted in the summer sun.

Under the trees, weaving through the graves, I found the marker: pink granite, engraved with hearts. Clarence, it read. My eternal friend and Guardian angel. You’ll always be a part of me forever. And underneath, obscured by flowers: love, M.

I had read about Clarence. I knew he was a loyal friend, kind, affectionate, sweet. Even though he ran with a famous crowd, he didn’t seem to care about money or celebrity or power. He valued the simple things in life. I studied the dates under Clarence’s name: 1979–1997. Clarence was eighteen when he died— by most cemeteries’ standards, painfully young. But in this cemetery, in Hartsdale, New York, eighteen is a good, long life.

I was looking at the grave of Mariah Carey’s cat.

When we open our hearts to animals, death is the inevitable price.This was not my first celebrity pet memorial. I’ve sat at the grave of Donald Stuart, Royal Nelson, and Laddie Miller—Lizzie Borden’s Boston terriers—their headstone engraved with the phrase sleeping awhile. I visited Pet Memorial Park, in Calabasas, California, where Hopalong Cassidy’s horse, Rudolph Valentino’s and Humphrey Bogart’s dogs, Charlie Chaplin’s cat, and one of the MGM lions are buried.

I traveled to the outskirts of Paris to see Rin Tin Tin’s grave in the Cimetière des Chiens et Autres Animaux Domestiques. I’ve said a prayer standing over the final resting place of America’s hero racehorse Secretariat, in Lexington, Kentucky. But every time, what impressed me more than the celebrity pet graves was all the headstones that surrounded them.

Celebrities are not alone in burying their dead pets. To the left and right of Clarence’s pink granite tombstone were hundreds of graves for other animals belonging to regular people. These memorials were no more or less lavish than the headstone Mariah had engraved for Clarence. If I hadn’t known about the telltale love, M on Clarence’s stone, I wouldn’t have been able to distinguish his grave from any of the others. Celebrities, I thought, studying the two hearts flanking Clarence’s name. They’re just like us.

By the time I visited Hartsdale, I’d already had a long personal history with pet cemeteries; in fact, I went to high school next to one. My school was of the New England prep variety, with facilities better than those at many colleges, on a gorgeous green campus in Dedham, a suburb southwest of Boston. This was the sort of school that carefully curated its image, boasting of athletic alumni competing in the Olympics, generations of legacy students, high SAT scores, and extremely competitive Ivy League acceptance rates. Less present in its marketing materials: that the school is located next to several thousand dead animals, buried in the Animal Rescue League of Boston’s Pine Ridge Pet Cemetery. Pine Ridge was the first official pet cemetery I knew of, but there are more than seven hundred of them scattered throughout the country.

By the time I was fourteen and first saw Pine Ridge, I’d already loved and lost many companion animals. I also loved to read, and, frankly, young adult literature is full of dead pets. “I remember that awful dread as the number of pages shrank in each new animal book I read,” writes Helen Macdonald in her memoir H Is for Hawk. “I knew what would happen. And it happened every time.” What happens in Old Yeller? The dog dies. In Where the Red Fern Grows? Two dogs die. The Red Pony? The pony dies. Tales of a Fourth Grade Nothing? The turtle dies.

In this way, grieving pets is a disenfranchised grief, which can make it hard to know how to process and honor it.I could go on.

When we open our hearts to animals, death is the inevitable price. Jake Maynard, in his essay “Rattled: The Recklessness of Loving a Dog,” writes that loving an animal is “mortgaging future heartbreak against a decade or so of camaraderie.” Matthew Gilbert, in his memoir Off the Leash: A Year at the Dog Park, writes, “In the course of an average human lifetime, pots and pans and couches and lamps stay with us for longer stretches of time. Even beloved T-shirts survive the decades, the silk-screened album images and tour dates wrinkled and cracked but still holding on. With a dog, you’re on a fast train to heartache.”

Yet people keep getting pets. As of the writing of this, 67 percent of American households, 84.9 million homes, own “some sort of pet,” according to the American Pet Products Association. And yet, despite those millions of pet owners all over the globe, and despite the inevitable loss that comes with that relationship, the ways people grieve a dead pet aren’t always taken very seriously.

Imagine Mariah canceling a world tour due to “a death in the family.” If her mother died, of course people would understand, without question. She would get cards and flowers; fans would send encouraging, sympathetic messages. But if Mariah put off a tour to mourn for her cat Clarence? Some fans would get it, I’m sure, but she would also certainly become the butt of thousands of jokes on social media.

For every pet that’s died, the one thing they’ve had in common has been my feeling of not knowing what to do with my grief—I could do everything, anything, nothing.Fiona Apple actually did postpone her South American tour in 2012 to spend more time with her dying pit bull, Janet, publishing a handwritten note explaining her reasoning to fans on her Facebook page. (Apple would later play percussion using Janet’s bones in a song on her album Fetch the Bolt Cutters.) Thousands of fans wrote supportive messages—it seems on brand that Fiona Apple fans would get it—but there were also ugly comments the moderators had to delete. Pets don’t live very long. They’re going to die. What were you  expecting? Taking time off from work to grieve for your pet as you would for a human—some say that’s too much.

In this way, grieving pets is a disenfranchised grief, which can make it hard to know how to process and honor it; but there’s freedom in that, too. With social acceptance come social standards and expectations. The human funerals I’ve been to run together in my mind.

I grew up in an Italian Irish Catholic household in Massachusetts, so to me the death of a person meant the same open casket, the same Bible verses, the same laminated prayer cards and stiff black clothes, the same taste of funeral home Life Savers, the overpowering scent of day lilies, the post-funeral deli sandwiches. Different cultures have different traditions, but every culture typically does have its own set of mourning rituals—for humans. The rituals may feel tedious and repetitive at times, but they also offer stability and closure. There is comfort in the expectedness. Even in the “spiritual not religious” memorial services I’ve been to, I see patterns: the same large-format photos of the deceased, the same Dylan Thomas poem, the same covers of “Make You Feel My Love.”

There’s no guidebook for mourning your animal. Some people keep urns with their animals’ ashes on their mantels for decades; others bury their pets (sometimes illegally) in their yards. Some knit scarves out of their cats’ fur; others have their dogs taxidermied. Some immediately go out and get a new puppy or kitten; others vow never to love again.

Taking time off from work to grieve for your pet as you would for a human—some say that’s too much.When your pet dies, it’s possible you’ve never seen anyone else grieve for a pet. There’s a good chance you won’t have a model to follow. My family cremated one of our dogs and spread his ashes by a lighthouse; another I carried home from the vet wrapped in towels, and we buried her in our yard. I made a small cemetery behind my childhood home to entomb my birds and fish; we never acknowledged the inevitable death of the tortoise that went missing.

For every pet that’s died, the one thing they’ve had in common has been my feeling of not knowing what to do with my grief—I could do everything, anything, nothing. I often wished for an encyclopedia of options, a guidebook to help me figure out how best to honor my departed animal friends, to both grieve for and celebrate their lives. I want my book, Good Grief, to be that guide.

That August day in Hartsdale, it struck me that every animal was buried there intentionally. No pet is buried in a cemetery because the law requires it; pets are buried in a cemetery because a human wanted them to be there. It doesn’t matter if it is the Jindaiji Pet Cemetery, in Tokyo, or Pet Heaven Memorial Park, in Miami—worldwide, throughout history, the love is the same, and the people who honor their pets in this way understand one another.

As I sat by Clarence’s memorial, I watched a woman visit her pet’s grave. She borrowed scissors from the cemetery office to trim back the grass around the stone. A few rows over, a man carried a bouquet of flowers. He approached the woman to borrow the scissors; she gave them to him with a nod. No judgment in the exchange, just one pet person to another. When you get it, you get it.

Complete Article ↪HERE↩!

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Research offers new perspective on grieving loss of a pet

A new review published in the CABI journal Human-Animal Interactions offers counsellors additional perspectives to explore while working with clients who have lost their pets.

The research highlights how during the COVID-19 pandemic, there was more opportunity for people to spend longer with their pets – relying on them to help maintain a sense of normality and provide security during periods of isolation.

Dr Michelle Crossley, Assistant Professor at Rhode Island College, and Colleen Rolland, President and pet loss grief specialist for Association for Pet Loss and Bereavement (APLB), suggest that pets play a significant role in the lives of their caregivers.

However, they add that grieving the loss of a pet continues to be disenfranchised in society.

Dr Crossley said, “Perceptions of judgment can lead individuals to grieve the loss without social support.

“The present review builds on research in the field of pet loss and human bereavement and factors in the impact of the COVID-19 pandemic on human-animal attachment.

“A goal of the present review is to provide counsellors with perspectives to consider in their practice when working with clients who have attachments to their companion animals.

“It also aims to acknowledge the therapeutic benefits of working through the grief process to resolution as a way to continue the bond with a deceased pet.”

The researchers say that stigma associated with grieving a loss can complicate the healing process and that counselors would expect to see more clients wanting to discuss their grieving – particularly during the COVID-19 pandemic.

They add that while empathy may come more naturally when discussing human loss, there are other types of loss that are not acknowledged or given a similar amount of attention by society.

This includes death by suicide, a lost pregnancy/miscarriage, death from AIDS and the death of a pet.

Ms Rolland said, “When relationships are not valued by society, individuals are more likely to experience disenfranchised grief after a loss that cannot be resolved and may become complicated grief.

“The major goals of this review are to provide counsellors with an aspect to consider in their therapeutic work with clients dealing with grief and loss and present different factors that may impact how one grieves the loss of a pet.

“It also discusses considerations for counseling that can be utilized to foster a supportive and non-judgmental space where clients’ expressions of grief are validated.”

Dr Crossley and Ms Rolland, in their review, suggest that having a safe space to discuss the meanings associated with the companion animal relationship is beneficial for moving through the loss in a supportive environment, leading to the resolution of the pain of the loss.

Dr Crossley added, “When an individual loses a pet, it can be a traumatic experience, especially given the strength of attachment, the role the pet played in the life of the individual, as well as the circumstances and type of loss.

“Giving a voice to individuals grieving a disenfranchised loss is one way in which counsellors can help clients through pet loss.

“It is also important to integrate pet loss work into counseling interventions and coping strategies that are already being used in the therapeutic space.”

The researchers believe that group counselling sessions in person or web-based chatrooms can both work as healing spaces for those working through grief.

Counselors can also engage both children and adults who are navigating pet loss by providing them with supplies and space to paint, draw, or use figures to draw out their anxieties and fears about the loss, they state.

In conclusion, Dr Crossley and Ms Rolland argue that understanding the grief process of pet owners can better prepare professionals to foster non-judgmental spaces where clients can feel open to display their grief.

Furthermore, providing empathy and validating the feelings that any type of loss of a pet can create for the clients may lead to more open sharing among the community further enhancing the healing process and a possible societal shift in the recognition of grieving pet loss as a normative experience.

Complete Article ↪HERE↩!

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What Happens When an Animal Dies at the National Zoo?

Dealing with death is part of the job.

Luke, the African Lion, who died on Oct. 19.

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With roughly 2,000 animals in the care of the National Zoo, dealing with the end of life is an inevitable part of the job, and these last few months saw several notable deaths.

Luke, a 17-year-old African lion, died on Oct. 19; Naba, an 18-year-old African lion, died on Sept. 26; and Calli, a 17-year-old California sea lion, died on Sept. 7. While counts obviously ebb and flow year by year, the zoo (using data from the past three years and including small animals like fish) estimates that it loses about 200 animals annually.

But while we get to see how the critters celebrate their birthdays and even holidays (hint: it often involves elaborate species-friendly treats), their deaths are more of a mystery. Is there a funeral? A secret animal graveyard somewhere?

Well, no and no.

While zookeepers are human and certainly mourn the loss of their “coworkers”—the zoo even maintains a relationship with a local animal grief counselor—they are also biologists. And in death, there’s a window for research.

Consequently, just about every animal that dies in the care of the zoo, whether from euthanasia or on its own, is immediately sent to the zoo’s pathology lab for a necropsy—the equivalent of a human autopsy.

“All organs are evaluated, all joints are evaluated, diagnostic samples are taken, maybe even beyond what we took when the animal was alive,” says Don Neiffer, chief veterinarian for the National Zoo. “The samples are then frozen for future evaluation and research that could benefit conservation. Tissues also go out for something called histopathology,” or the microscopic study of disease.

According to Neiffer, the zoo has tissue samples of nearly every animal there since the ’70s—including a few species that are now extinct.

Any resulting information is then shared across the industry, providing useful data to researchers who may be studying a niche health issue within a certain species that they normally wouldn’t have access to. “In death, we utilize these animals to help improve the lives for the others they left behind,” says Neiffer.

For example, when the first baby Asian elephant born at the zoo unexpectedly died in 1995, its necropsy led to the discovery of a previously unidentified herpesvirus in elephants. “Basically, it was the wellspring for elephant herpes virus research, diagnostics, treatment, and hopefully an eventual cure,” says Neiffer.

Veterinary technician Hannah Sylvester works with elephant blood samples, extracting DNA, as part of elephant herpesviruses research.

Even local wildlife, like squirrels that wander onto the zoo’s campus and die, undergo necropsies.

“Because of our collection, we want to do surveillance,” said Neiffer. “If [dead wildlife] comes to us, we do at least minimal gross dissection, but oftentimes we do diagnostics. We’re looking at any issues that could concern our team or animals,” such as rabies or Avian influenza. Likewise, the zoo shares this data with local wildlife departments.

Afterward, leftover parts of the animal—think a shell from a tortoise or the skeleton of a cheetah—might go to a museum or education center. In fact, the National Museum of Natural History has several skeletons from the zoo in its collection.

Anything remaining will be cremated, including even the tiniest of animals. “Everything from guppies to elephants is incinerated,” says Neiffer.

While burials were once commonplace at zoos, very few bury their animals anymore. One reason for that: “You don’t want illicit wildlife parts ending up in anybody’s hands,” says Neiffer.

Of course, underlying all these scientific processes is the emotional side of death, too. “Anyone who has a good understanding of how much we love these animals and care for them can understand how difficult end of life care is,” says Brandie Smith, the zoo’s director. “But also, these are professionals. These are people who train their entire career to do this.”

With so many of the animals living past their species’ mortality rates in the wild, the zoo’s workers must regularly confront a heart-wrenching question: if and when to euthanize a terminally ill animal. The zoo keeps a detailed chart, tracking the animal’s quality of life‚ marking whether it’s still eating, staying active, and socializing. When it becomes clear that the “animal is suffering beyond what’s reasonable,” then it’s time.

“It’s hard on us, but we take on that burden as zookeepers,” says Neiffer. “It’s our onus and our responsibility to provide the animals with that peaceful passage to the next plane. When we can remove [their suffering], we’ve given them that last gift.”

Still, it’s always hard to say goodbye, which is why the zoo provides its keepers a final moment with the animal before euthanasia. Even particularly social species, like elephants and great apes, receive a moment to acknowledge the death of their habitat mate (assuming it died from a noninfectious cause). 

While there’s ultimately no funeral or ceremony, there are sympathy cards. The public often sends in memories they had of an animal, drawings from children, and well wishes for staff, says Smith. In the case of a panda cub that lived only for a few days, Smith says “the outpouring of sympathy and grief from the public was really powerful.”

Then, as with all things, life goes on.

“Animal keepers as a whole are an incredibly stoic group of people and they’re good at grieving with one another—but they also have a job to do,” says Smith. “There are other animals to take care of. It’s part of the cycle they have been trained for.”

Complete Article ↪HERE↩!

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5 Meaningful Ways To Remember A Beloved Pet

By jackmartin

One of the most painful things a pet parent can go through is the loss of a beloved pet. Even if death is inevitable, saying goodbye to an animal companion can be a challenging process. After all, your pet has already become one of the treasured members of your family. This indeed makes the grief more intense and complex. Thankfully, some ways can help you grieve healthily and honor the memories you had with your pet during their lifetime.

But how can you do that? Read on to learn the five meaningful ways to remember a beloved pet.

  • Hold A Memorial Service

Organizing a memorial service is one of the most traditional yet special ways to cherish the memories of your furry companion who has crossed the rainbow bridge. It can be an excellent opportunity to gather all the people who love and care for your pet. During the memorial service, you can request these people to share a good memory of your pet.

Moreover, there are ways to organize a pet memorial service. For example, if you choose to bury your pet, you may pick a burial spot in your garden or anywhere near your home. You can create a memorial garden where you can add a paving stone engraved with your pet’s name or image.

On the other hand, you may also decide to cremate your animal companion with the help of cremation providers like Lawnswood Pet Cremation and other similar options. In doing so, you can scatter the ashes in any natural spot or opt to keep the ashes with you at home, where you can rekindle your pet’s beautiful memories anytime.  

  • Buy A Customized Pet Jewelry Item

Another meaningful way of remembering your beloved pet is to customize a jewelry item for them. For example, with your furry companion’s name, you can buy things like brackets, cuff links, lockets, rings, and other similar products. You can also personalize the jewelry item by having it shaped like a paw or engraving your pet’s photo on it. However, if you want to be closer to your pet’s memories all the time, you may consider buying a jewelry item like a necklace, which is designed to keep a small number of your pet’s ashes in it.

  • Put Together A Pet Remembrance Book

It’s hard to forget your happy memories with your beloved pet. Hence, if you want to remember them even if they’re gone, you can create a photo album book containing all your pet’s photos throughout their life. Indeed, you’ve taken many pictures of your pet during their lifetime.

So, use these images to create a pet remembrance book where you can compile them and provide a brief description of the events depicted in the photos. For instance, if the pictures are stored online, you can use a photo editing app to create a digital pet remembrance book. However, if you want a physical copy of the photo album, you can buy a photo book in the store and create your own.

  • Hang Your Pet’s Portrait In Your Home

Painting your pet’s portrait can also be one of the meaningful ways to cherish their memories. You can hang it in the central area of your home, like the living room. This will always serve as your last memory with your beloved pet, who has passed already.

To get started, you can commission a pet portrait artist in your area to create the painting for you. You can find these professionals online, particularly on many social media platforms. You can also ask your veterinarian or some pet stores for some recommendations if they have any.

  • Make A Donation In Your Pet’s Memory

Donating money to animal shelters and other pet organizations can be a meaningful and powerful way of remembering your beloved pet. It can make you feel better because you can help other animals in your furry companion’s memory. You can use the money you would have spent on your pet to fund abandoned animals’ needs, including their food, medical care, treats, and even toys.

By doing all these things, you can make your pet’s passing more special. You can turn your grief into hope and love for other animals in need.

Final Thoughts

Mourning for a pet’s death can be a tough process. But you don’t need to dwell on that pain for a long time. Although you can never bring their life back, some ways can help you commemorate their life. You’ll have plenty of ways to remember a furry friend if you keep the information mentioned above in mind. These methods will allow you to say goodbye and maintain your connection with them for the rest of your life.

Complete Article ↪HERE↩!

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Why a pet’s death hits so hard

— New book explores dealing with the loss of a beloved companion

By Peter O’Dowd

E.B. Bartels has cared for many pets in her life: Fish, dogs, birds and a tortoise. And she watched many of them die.

In her new book, “Good Grief: On Loving Pets Here and Hereafter” she explores how people mourn and grieve their animals. With her own losses, Bartels says she often diminishes her feelings by telling herself it was a only dog or a bird that died, not a human being.

“The truth is, we can have really deep, special, important relationships with animals that sometimes are even more profound than our relationships with other people,” Bartels says. “I interviewed so many people for my book who said, ‘It hit me way harder when my cat of 20 years died than when my dad who I was sort of estranged from passed away.’”

Animals love their owners unconditionally — and the loss of that acceptance can devastate people, Bartels says. And losing the physical affection from cuddling or sleeping beside a pet is a big loss when the animal is no longer around.

Even with all her research, Bartels questions why people continue adopting pets knowing this difficult goodbye is inevitable.

“Are we just masochists? Why do we keep doing this to ourselves?” she says. “There’s really something worth it. I just always think about the complete, unconditional love that our animals give us.”

For example, her beloved dog Seymour endured a tough heartworm treatment last spring that involved shots and drugs — but he never resented or witheld snuggles from Bartels and her husband.

Bartels thinks about Seymour’s eventual death on a daily basis. Prey-driven Seymour loves to chase small animals like squirrels and lunge after trucks, so on every walk, Bartels thinks he’s going to get away from her and run into the street.

“I think in some ways pets bring us so much joy because they force us to remember how short life is and how fleeting our time is together,” she says. “Even if Seymour gets hit by a car tomorrow while I’m walking him, at least we’ve had a few really special years together. And I’m really grateful for that time.”

Interview Highlights

On how to know when it’s time to say goodbye

“That is a really hard question and I wish I had a better answer. I asked every single vet I interviewed for this book that question. One of the best pieces of advice I heard was sort of the three things rule.

“A vet in Western Mass. said to think of three things that your pet loves to do. Maybe it’s swim in the lake and chase a tennis ball and loves to eat carrots. And on any given day, if your pet can still do all three or two of those three things, then your pet’s probably in pretty good shape. But if you start to notice that even the things that they absolutely love to do more than anything in the world are becoming challenging or they’re not interested in doing them anymore, then that’s when you really need to start to think about, am I holding on because I’m having trouble letting go and what’s best for my pet here? Are they in pain or are they suffering? It’s hard, though, because every animal is so different.”

On how the death of pets weighs on veterinarians

“It’s really hard for vets. I spoke to probably like 25 or 30 different [vets] for this book, and all of them brought up the really high suicide rate actually among veterinarians. All of them have lost colleagues to suicide.

“I think that’s part of why I wanted to write so much about the vet perspective in my book, to really remind people who are grieving that it’s really easy when you’re grieving and angry and upset to lash out and blame the vet, ‘Oh, you said this surgery would fix their cancer and it didn’t work and they died anyway.’ Vets are people and they’re just trying the best they can and they want what’s best for your pet, too.

“I had a lot of people tell me they got really angry at their vet when the vet suggested maybe it was time to consider euthanasia, but they admitted later that they just didn’t want to hear that because they were sad and upset and the vet really was doing what was best for the animal or thinking about what was best for the animal.”

On her visits to pet cemeteries and how famous racehorses like Secretariat are memorized

“We can really be profoundly impacted by animals who aren’t our own pets, who are famous, and lots of people know and love them. Secretariat in particular came on the scene when people were going through a hard time in the United States. There was war and seeing such a joyful, successful racehorse really brought a lot of people’s spirits up. So in Lexington, [Kentucky], it was really amazing to see these whole horse cemeteries and monuments to these amazing race horses.

“One of my favorite facts is when Man of War, who is another legendary racehorse, passed away, the whole city of Lexington shut down for the day. So everyone, like kids, didn’t have to go to school so everyone could come and pay their respects to Man of War who lay in state, sort of like a U.S. president.”

On the history of humans grieving the loss of pets

“People have loved animals for millennia. My first chapter of my book is all about how in ancient Egypt, people would mummify their pets, they would bury [their pets] with them and hope to be reunited in the afterlife. There are animal mummies in Peru. There are ancient dog cemeteries in Siberia and Israel. People have loved animals for as long as they have welcomed animals into their homes and lives. And to me, if you’ve loved an animal, you also then grieve an animal. So it’s nothing new.”

“To me, the way that people mourn their pets and have these big mausoleums and statues and plots and pet cemeteries and portraits painted, it just shows to me the depth of their love and the joy that pets bring them.”

Complete Article ↪HERE↩!

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Life and death lessons from my very best friend

Luis Carrasco and his dog, Penelope, at the top of Humphreys Peak, the highest point in Arizona, on Oct. 11, 2014.

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I have always been afraid of death. Not of dying, but of the pain of losing those I love.

I was so preoccupied with it as a child, that ever since I can remember, I said I wanted to be a doctor. This delighted my mom and dad to no end, especially when I said the reason was that I wanted to help people. The truth was I wanted to keep them from dying.

For 45 years, through emotional detachment and good fortune, I had mostly avoided that pain I so dreaded. Until a week ago, when my luck ran out and my wife and I said goodbye to our dog, Penelope. She was almost 15.

It’s fitting that having learned so much from her in life, that she had one last thing to teach me.

But before I talk about the end, let me tell you about the beginning. My wife and I had been living together for less than six months, having recently moved to Chattanooga, Tennessee, when she insisted that we get a dog.

Although I had a couple of pets growing up, they lived outside, and I felt little connection to them. In Mexico, having an indoor dog was unthinkable, it just wasn’t part of the culture. Penelope, as suits a proper Southern lady, would be raised differently.

Born Jan. 1, 2008, of a coonhound mother and a chocolate Lab father, she had a dozen siblings. About half of them were all white, the other all black. Six weeks after they were born, they barked and bounded in the back of a truck — a monochrome flurry of puppy energy — where Penelope and her brother’s mixed coats stood out.

My wife pointed at the pair, and I grabbed the male dog. She said she meant the female but that, “it was OK if we took that one.” As she always tells the story, with a tone that invokes the hand of providence, I apparently said, “No, no, let’s take the one you wanted.”

Thus, Penelope came into our lives, and, verily, I wanted to drown her in the bathtub.

We lived in a condo that shared walls with three other units and as she cried at night, what mattered to me most was that we were inconveniencing the neighbors. She peed inside the house, chewed anything she could get her paws on and demanded constant attention … for about a week.

Then, it felt longer, and now it feels shorter, but regardless, she very quickly settled into who she would be for the rest of her life: a sweet, relaxed dog who asked for very little and gave so much in return.

As I think about who I was then, and what I thought was important, I have a hard time understanding. I’m embarrassed at how sheltered I was and how even though I was 30 and married, I had so much growing up to do.

In those early days, Penelope’s biggest sin was forcing me out of my routine, out of my solipsistic comfort zone of not having to do anything for anyone else. Slowly, she not only made me a better person, but she opened my world in new ways.

Taking her for walks and going on hikes, her love for being out in nature was infectious. She took me from someone who thought twice about sitting on the grass for fear of an ant or two, to pushing through tick-infested bushes on the hunt for an elusive swimming hole. She really loved the water.

Being with her allowed me to get out of my head and enjoy myself. When I think of happiness, one of the images that always comes up is chasing Penelope, not a care in the world, as she ran around the hills of the Chickamauga Battlefield in Georgia. There are pictures, and they are silly.

Penelope sits by a lake inside Yellowstone National Park on June 1, 2021. (Luis Carrasco)
Penelope sits by a lake inside Yellowstone National Park on June 1, 2021.

She also helped me work on managing frustration, from her days when she was a rebellious puppy to her final months, when we dealt with the indignities that come with illness and old age. She could no longer walk by herself or properly control her bodily functions.

Penelope died on Aug. 20, and the pain of losing her has been at times overwhelming — emotionally and physically draining. There is a certain unreality to my days. Life had Penelope in it, so what is this now? My wife calls the whole thing surreal.

Yet, this is one more case of Penelope pushing me to grow up, to understand that death comes with pain, but it also comes with happiness. Even as tears still flow every time I think of her, afterward I am left feeling joy; blessed to have known her and for the time we shared.

I know someday the tears will stop, and the joy will remain.

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