Last weekend I attended a fascinating workshop on grief that explored how therapists can support people dealing with the death of a pet.
My family always had dogs when I was growing up – usually three or four at any one time, along with others that would be fostered for a while, and so the topic was familiar to me.
One dog I was especially fond of was a German shepherd called Skol who died in 1998 aged 12. When he stood on his hind legs, he was almost as tall as I am now. He was a very bright dog and extremely gentle, although he had the kind of bark that made strangers think twice about coming too close to the fence.
Another was Broxi, a border collie who died in 2012 aged 11 and who, in my opinion, was the best dog we ever had.
He was razor sharp and great with a football. He was like a four-legged Lionel Messi and loved to play football tennis, a game he rarely lost.
Both dogs had that quality some acquire as they get older, where looking into their eyes feels like being observed by a wise old man. They were also skilled at picking up emotion and seemed to know when somebody was upset, anxious, or simply needed some company.
If I look at photographs of them today, I still feel that sense of loss, but the sadness is now mixed with fond memories and gratitude for the years we had with them. Anyone who has loved and lost an animal will probably recognise those mixed feelings, and I’m sure many of you have fond stories of your favourite pets.
For animal lovers, regardless of species, a pet is usually regarded as part of the family, which can be difficult to understand for people who have never had much affinity with animals themselves.
When we think about grief, we tend to think first about the death of another person. We might stumble over what to say in those circumstances, but at least we have some idea of what is socially expected.
We can send a message, attend a funeral, offer our condolences or give someone a little more leeway while they’re grieving. Most of us can also imagine, even if we haven’t experienced it ourselves, what it might be like to lose somebody close to us.
The death of a pet can feel a bit more awkward. What happens when a friend is devastated by the death of their dog or cat, but we can’t really understand why?
Pet loss is often described as a form of “disenfranchised grief” – grief that isn’t fully recognised or validated by the people around us. The relationship might have been enormously important to the person who is mourning, while others regard the loss as relatively minor. Often, there’s no funeral, no compassionate leave, and little social recognition that someone might still be grieving weeks or months later.
The lack of understanding can also affect what people say.
People might be told, “It was only a dog”, “At least she had a good life”, “You can always get another one”, “He was old anyway”.
Most comments are well meant. We try to reach for reassurance when somebody is hurting because we want to ease their pain. But reassurance can sometimes minimise what the person is going through without that being the intention. Knowing an animal was old, or knowing that death was coming, doesn’t necessarily make the absence easier. And another pet, however loved they might become, won’t replace the relationship that has ended.
It’s much more helpful to acknowledge what has happened without trying too quickly to make the person feel better.
We can say, “I’m so sorry. I know how much she meant to you.” “You must really miss him.” “He was a big part of your life.”
If you knew the animal yourself, you might share a memory of how the dog always waited by the door when its owner came home, or some ridiculous habit that everybody used to laugh about. Part of grieving is remembering the pet that has died, and animals have personalities, quirks, and histories within families just as people do.
It can also help to ask about the pet. “What was she like?” or “What do you miss most about him?” gives the person a chance to talk about the relationship, rather than just the death.
And it’s worth checking in a week or two afterwards. “I was thinking about you today. How are you doing?” This can mean a lot once the first expressions of sympathy have faded.
Perhaps the most important thing is to resist deciding for somebody else how significant their loss ought to be. You don’t have to understand what it feels like to lose a beloved pet to recognise that, for the person in front of you, it was an important part of their life to be remembered and cherished.
Sandy Clarke has long held an interest in emotions, mental health, mindfulness and meditation. He believes the more we understand ourselves and each other, the better societies we can create. If you have any questions or comments, e-mail lifestyle@thestar.com.my. The views expressed here are entirely the writer’s own.
