“When Dave came home from work every day, he patted me on the head and kissed the dog.”
Cheryl was smiling when she told of us her husband’s attachment to their family pet, though she is meeting with our staff to discuss a deeply troubling issue many of you will know well if you have come to love a pet, and then had to say goodbye. And if you’re a family member or friend of those who’ve gone through prolonged, agonizing grief over a lost pet, you may know how perplexing their reactions can be. We’ll help sort that out, starting with how Dave and Cheryl got to this point. They could not have anticipated what they would be going through today from the unexpected beginning nearly twelve years ago.
Dave was on his way home from a job in Middlesex County when he saw something squirming on the side of a rural road. He wouldn’t have stopped at all, except that it was a blustery winter day. In the ditch, he found a quivering puppy, too weak and cold to stand. Its fur was encrusted with ice pellets. The pup looked up at Dave through dim, squinting eyes. Dave wrapped the pup in his coat and drove home with the rescue in his lap.
When Dave came through the kitchen door holding a bundle of fur, his daughter Abbey cheered, “We’re getting a puppy!”
Cheryl said, “We didn’t talk about this, Dave.”
“He’s not staying,” Dave said. “We’re just going to take care of him until we can take him to the shelter tomorrow.”
Abbey protested. Cheryl had to be another buzzkill. “I work every day now, and daddy is away at work even longer. You’re in school all day. We just can’t keep the puppy.”
But the snow kept falling, and the roads became too treacherous for driving, so another day passed with a furry houseguest now thriving on food, warmth and cuddles.
“We should at least name him,” Abbey said.
Dave peered at the pup as it barked playfully then tried to gnaw the leg of the coffee table. “He is cute. Sort of.”
“In a shaggy, barky, bitey way,” Cheryl said.
Abbey named him Little Chewbacca, but Chew-barka soon stuck.
Dave said, “I’m taking him to the shelter right after I get home from work tomorrow. He’ll find a nice forever family there.”
Dave came home the next day especially tired. When Cheryl got home with Abbey, they found him asleep on the couch, cradling Chew-barka on his chest. They tip-toed around the house to ensure he had a restful nap. By the time Dave awoke, closing time had passed at our shelter.
The next day our staff first met Chew-barka, but not because Dave surrendered him. Dave asked our veterinarian to give him a health check and shots, and advice on training a new puppy. Dave told us about his family’s ploy to keep the dog another night. He might have been annoyed by it, except that he got thinking a four-legged companion would be nice on his long days working as a self-employed contractor.
From that day on, Chew-barka followed Dave everywhere. He didn’t need a leash to take him for a walk. At the job site, Chew-barka guarded the tools from the truck bed, greeting anyone nearby with a tail-wagging, barking alert that Dave could silence with a single word. Dave rewarded him with frequent games of fetch. He couldn’t turn down Chew-barka’s pleading eyes when he dropped a slobbery ball at his feet to be thrown yet again, though Chew-barka seemed to know when Dave had had enough.
Dave was convinced that Chew-barka was especially attuned to his moods and needs, and that this was no ordinary dog. The next thing he knew, he was signing Chew-barka’s name on greeting cards as a full-fledged member of the family. In fact, this is a turning point that signals a pet parent's vulnerability when that relationship ends.
After a decade with Chew-barka as his right-hand hound, Dave was again facing an unexpected turn. He had to end his business and get a regular day job, and Chew-barka could no longer go to work with him. It was a big adjustment for both.
Chew-barka’s bright, expectant eyes often fixated on the door where Dave would surely appear. His ears perked up the moment he heard Dave’s truck from blocks away, even if he was in a deep slumber. Every time without fail, he scrambled to the door with his tail wagging his whole hind end. When Dave’s truck pulled into the driveway, he started leaping up and down and dancing around in frenzied circles. By the time Dave stepped into the kitchen, Chew-barka had worked himself into tail-slapping, fur-flying, delirious doggie hysteria. The mania was only broken when Dave gave the word: “Up, Chew-barka. Up!” Then he’d jump up and rest his paws on Dave’s chest, panting in his face and trying to sneak in a poochie smooch.
“You’re the only one in the world who’s always glad to see me,” Dave always told him. Chew-barka hadn’t noticed how nerdy he’d gotten the way Abbey had when she hit her early teens. Chew-barka never failed to adore Dave like the doggie idol he is.
Within the year, something was afoot with Chew-barka. Pain was slowing his step and stealing his playfulness. Cheryl and Abbey knew something was really wrong when he didn’t have it in him to greet Dave with the complete canine berserkitude they’d all come to expect. Dave brought him to us to see what we could do for his aging best buddy.
For a time, we made him comfortable, but soon there was nothing more we could do for him.
“Are you sure?” Dave pleaded. He left him with us overnight, just in case, but Chew-barka remained weak and listless. He had been sleeping in his kennel when Dave arrived the next day. Chew-barka mustered the strength to raise his head in Dave’s direction.
Dave said, “He’s looking at me like, ‘Oh great! You came back to get me out of here. Thanks, buddy.’” These moments are the most heart-wrenching for our staff too when we must do the hardest part of our job here. The protracted grief long after saying goodbye to Chew-barka is why Dave’s wife has come to us today.
“If there’s a heaven for dogs, I know Chew-barka is up there patiently waiting for Dave,” Cheryl told us. “But down here in suburbia, Dave is utterly inconsolable.” Of course, Cheryl and Abbey miss Chew-barka, but Dave’s mourning is a deeper, enduring anguish. And that leaves Cheryl with a lot of questions about why, and how to help him.
Dave is not alone in suffering this unique kind of grief. It's unlike other anguish in that those around the sufferer may be reluctant to recognize that the loss is real, creating expectations for the bereaved that they should quickly get over their sadness, or not even acknowledge it all. It's what's known as "disenfranchised grief".
The experience of grieving a pet is further complicated when the owner chooses to end their pet's suffering before a natural end of life. Research reveals that the decision to euthanize a pet can trigger feelings of guilt or shame that “may exacerbate the grief experience surrounding an already difficult loss”.
In next week's post, we will further explore the complexities of grief after a pet dies, and look into how to understand this experience and support those going through it. We'll also check in on Dave, Cheryl, Abbey, and Chew-barka's legacy.
Sources:
Anna Maria C. Behler, PhD, Jeffrey D. Green, PhD & Jennifer Joy-Gaba, PhD (2020) "We Lost a Member of the Family": Predictors of the Grief Experience Surrounding the Loss of a Pet, Human-Animal Interaction Bulletin, 8(3), 54-70, DOI: 10.1079/hai.2020.0017
Cordaro, Millie (2012) "Pet loss and disenfranchised grief: Implications for mental health counseling practice." Journal of Mental Health Counseling 34(4), 283-294, DOI: 10.17744/mehc.34.4.41q0248450t98072