I lost Archer in August. Even though I have two other dogs I love dearly, Archer was the light of my life. As the youngest, he was the energy, the noise, and the joy for all of us. I never expected to lose him first, but I did, and it was sudden, scary, and traumatic. The weeks after his passing were the worst. First, I felt angry. I blamed myself. I blamed the vets who couldn’t figure out what was wrong. Then I felt extremely sad. It was like I had a hole in the pit of my stomach all day. After that came embarrassment as I struggled to explain to co-workers and friends why I took an unplanned week of “vacation” and why I was so down after having a week off. I felt like they couldn’t understand how the death of one little dog could affect me so deeply, for so long. Even I didn’t understand it. Would my colleagues think less of me and see my grief as a weakness? As the weeks passed, I became an accomplished actor as I went out with friends for drinks, participated in work meetings with a smile, and continued my normal activities even though Archer was never far from my thoughts. Even today I still replay the loss over and over again in my mind. I wonder if I did everything I could.
Before Archer passed, I was scheduled to visit an amazing animal shelter with family friends who were visiting from out of town. The visit was scheduled for the day after Archer died. The shelter is fantastic, but on that day it was the last place I felt like visiting. But I went. As volunteers walked us around and introduced me to wonderful animals needing a home, I couldn’t even consider taking in another dog. There was no way I could replace Archer. I felt like I would be betraying him by bringing home a new dog so soon and letting it sleep in his bed or play with his toys. Plus, a new dog wouldn’t lie on the bathmat waiting for me to get out of the shower, or bark at me to spray him with the hose when I was watering the garden, or sit on the back of the couch while I run on the treadmill like Archer loved to do. I left the shelter without a dog because I felt sick at the very notion of getting another pet. At that moment I thought to myself, “I’m never getting another dog.” That evening, while scrolling though old emails, I came across this message from a friend who had lost his beloved pet months earlier:
“…A neighbor met Sophie for the first time and said something very callous, whether intentionally or not, that I had trouble absorbing: ‘You seem to have gotten over Honey pretty quickly.’ It hit me like a freight train. That couldn’t be further from the truth. No, I don’t speak of Honey and there’s a reason for that. I can’t. It’s the most painful thing I ever went through, and at 47, with my share of ups and downs, that says a lot. I’ve come to accept that I simply am not, and will not be, getting over the loss anytime soon—if ever. I feel very betrayed, angry, and sad. I still have trouble seeing pictures of her. Anyone who knew her understands. She was 24/7 happiness. I did not get Sophie to ‘replace’ her, and that was certainly not an easy move. That took all the strength I could muster. Anyone who loses a companion animal feels that particular pain and never wants to go through it again, and vows to never get another just to avoid even feeling that pain again. I went through that in the first few months, but also realized my own selfish need to avoid pain should not override the need of another being searching for a home, plain and simple. I had the home, I had the space, and I also knew my other dog Bob needed a friend. There’s no explanation beyond that. We continue because we have to, but let’s face it, we continue with less power in our movements and less strength in our steps. But we do continue. I learned to love Sophie as a new chapter in my life, not as a replacement for a chapter in which the pages were ripped out. I’m resolved to the fact that on my own deathbed someday I won’t be thinking about success, fortune, failure, triumphs, regrets, or any of that, I will be thinking about Honey and how proud and lucky I was to have had her along with my others, past, present, and future. She will never be forgotten. I don’t talk about her simply because I can’t, but no one should misinterpret that as I’m ‘over her’ or have ‘moved on.’ I can only wish that I was that strong.”
Wow! That was exactly what I needed to hear. I realized that of course I am going to get another dog. But I don’t have to do it on anyone else’s schedule. I will get another dog when it feels right, because my other dogs want and need that companionship, and ALL of those beautiful animals in the shelters deserve loving homes. But I still felt so guilty. It’s like I was afraid to replace my memories of Archer with those from a new dog.
I told a friend that I was working on this article, and she shared her perspective:
“I remember when I lost my beagle and adopted Bosco two weeks later that everyone was stunned—and before it happened I would have never thought that I’d be ready to love another dog so fast. But the thing for me was that I had this horribly dogless house, and love to give, and out there was someone who needed me. The big thing for me was accepting that Bosco is not Elmo, and that his view of the world is very different than Elmo’s was and that I shouldn’t ask him to be anything other than who he is.”
She is right. No dog can ever replace Archer, but there are wonderful dogs and cats in shelters everywhere, and they all have unique personalities and the simple desire to be loved and cared for. Archer was an amazing soul and he will never be forgotten, so I don’t need to feel silly about mourning him. And when I’m ready, I will go to the shelter to find another pet because there is an animal out there that needs me, and I have love to give. And he or she will get to play with Archer’s toys and sleep in his bed, and hopefully they will feel the love and compassion that Archer felt and that they deserve. A new dog may not give good hugs like Archer did, but it will have its own special quirks and traits, and we will make new memories together, while the memory of Archer will always stay with me.
By Charlene Sloan (with special thanks to David and Cheri)
This is exactly how I felt after loosing my Spanky. I cried for days. I grieved for a whole year. He was a rescue, just a little puppy. But he was the best baby ever. After 13 years I knew he didn’t have many days left and I told him it was ok to cross the rainbow bridge. But even as the words came out of mouth I couldn’t bear the thought of not having him. After 13 years he was my most loyal family member. I found myself avoiding coming home because he wasn’t there anymore. I like to think of him in heaven running in a grassy meadow. This gives me a sense of peace. Maybe one day he’ll be running to me again. I swore I would not have another doggie baby but could not stand the loneliness I felt in my heart. I did get another fur baby, actually two. They are 6 year old brothers and I love them dearly. And recently I adopted a little girl puppy. I love all my fur babies but not one of them can measure up to my Spanky.
When my cat died, I was so grateful that I had a house full of cats (my own as well as a family I was fostering) because I am pretty sure I would have sworn the whole never again thing as well. I looked up from my pain and realized I had to go through this seven more times.. so I decided it was the last gift I could give my girl.. my tears..
I aLeo lost my precious baby Zoe, it was very sudden, and something I still have difficulty accepting. I loved her so, but I also needing to give love to another fur baby, in fact two, the yorkie girls are so sweet and provide such joy, but I will always miss my Zoe. Once you have had the love of a dog or cat, the house is so empty without a fur baby around, and there are so many animals that need a loving home
Pippin was our first. A gorgeous cockapoo we got from a groomer. He was our joy. Then pancreatitis hit and he got so ill he literally gave up eating and drinking. He hated the diabetic food he now had to eat as the pancreas was destroyed. He wouldn’t eat. He loved the wagon train chicken jerky from Costco and despite being told by the Vet “no more treats” I felt as though I was getting him some protein, at least. The day after we put him down we learned it was likely those treats that killed him. Nothing worse than grief than guilt. I would wake up at night and just bawl. It took me an entire year before I could say his name without losing it. But now our Percy, who we got to keep Pippin company, was alone. He needed a buddy. Just two weeks after losing Pippin a voice whispered in my ear…GO TO THE SHELTER NOW! I truly believe in opening your mind and heart to these messages. The economy was in a nosedive and the line to turn in pets was longer than the one adopting. It broke my heart. Cage after cage were big dogs, too big for our doggie door. Then there he was…a white matted mess. I kneeled down and called him over…and got a kiss. OK…he likes me at least. (They say dogs choose us.) I went inside to look at his card…brought in on the same day we lost our Pippin. I called my partner and said PLEASE GO CHECK HIM OUT! He did. He actually got the attendant to let them have some play time together…then the attendant says “I’m so sorry. This dog is not available. He won’t be available until tomorrow…someone accidentally took him off the LOST side a day early!” IT WAS MEANT TO BE! I was there the following morning and adopted our MAX. He was not a replacement. On the day we went to pick him up a week later, after he was neutered, we were putting his collar on him and the local paper got a photo of us. We miss both Pippin and Percy (who we lost to glaucoma and doggy Alzheimer’s a year later) but now have Max and Leo…another shelter rescue we got knowing we were about to lose Percy. They were Heaven sent and have brought us so much joy. I really think it was Pippin who whispered in my ear that day…
More than a year after I lost my sweet puppy I still think I hear her nails on the wooden floors and look over expecting to see her laying by my desk as I work. I don’t have the courage to face losing another baby like that…but I find myself looking through the petfinder site and stopping by the humane society just to visit. there is a way our pets are with us that is so particular and so special that they are simply irreplaceable. good on you if you’re ready to open your heart again…and absolutely understandable if you’re not.
Have you since been able to get another dog? I’ve been struggling with this for a while and all of the feelings you have expressed are so spot on. I feel so guilty – for even wanting another, and also for not getting a dog away from a shelter when I could be saving a life or two.
We lost my Dad, then 6 weeks later had to let the first dog I’d ever had in my life go. She was 16 and had literally saved my life at a very sad time for me. We had another sweet girl, only 11 and she died from congestive heart failure just 10 days later. I know I physically and emotionally need to get another, but can’t seem to get myself to, it has been so difficult to get over the loses.
It would be great to know how that has worked out for you. How it truly feels in your heart to get another animal – is it different? Does it remind you constantly of the sweet dog you lost?
We lost our beloved Ricky suddenly this past June. Last December, my son had lost his job and moved home with his dog, Happy. My son secured another position (schedule to begin in August) but would not be able to take Happy with him. My husband and I couldn’t keep Happy, because she made the environment too stressful for Ricky and my other dog, Tito. However, when Ricky passed, the dynamic changed. The stress level went down and I received great comfort from Happy. My husband was still against keeping Happy. Ricky was his dog, and he couldn’t help but feel like we were trying to replace him. I look at it a different way. I feel like Ricky passed because Ricky wanted us to keep Happy. My son visits often, but Happy’s #1 love is now my husband. And he doesn’t talk about finding her another home any longer.
I lost my cat, Shadow, in May 2014. She was 12 when I got her, and I was lucky enough to have for almost 9 and a half years after. She had come from a home that didn’t treat her a swell, so I’m forever grateful I have her the best last 9 and a half years of her life I could’ve given her. Her health drastically declined the last two weeks of her life, and it was absolutely devastating. I was starting to think she was immortal, and that I would always have her, and seeing he get so sick shook me. When she passed, I had another cat already. I had fostered 3 kittens two summers prior, and one of them had become mine.
We all grieve differently. There’s no way I could’ve been alone after Shadow passed. She was my very first cat as an adult, and had been there through so many moments in my life. Nothing will ever replace that. Beatrice (my adopted foster), is 3 and a half now, and Shadow’s legacy carries on in her. I love Beatrice equally, but it’s a different kind of love. Shadow is never far from my heart. ❤
Reblogged this on Hope Rescues.
In over twenty years of rescue and more losses than I want to think about, I’ve come to realize that almost everyone with animals has been found by one that is more special, more of a soul-mate, more in tuned with us. That one breaks our heart more deeply than all the others. We grieve and move on to laugh and remember with some. That special one seems to be the one we can never talk about with tears. I lover you article an I hope you don’t mind if I pin it on my Pinterest board for those experienced pet loss and grief. Thank you for helping others understand.