Grief for Our Pets Makes Us Human
Like any true love, it’s one that’s worth the pain
Until my dog died, I knew nothing of loss.
As a child, I’d sat through the funerals of distant relations, but the sadness I felt was more for the people around me, whose bond with the deceased was far greater than mine could ever be. I’d very rarely cried in my life and, as I aged, wondered if I’d become some sort of Meursault.
This all changed the afternoon my mother rang to say she was taking our family dog, Belle, to be euthanised.
“Wait,” I begged.
It was a two-hour train ride to her home, but I would have done it no matter what. For many reasons, my mother was not able to hold off. I never saw Belle before she left this world.
That’s when I cried for what felt like the first time. Luckily my housemate was out because I howled and sobbed; my tears were lava and burned holes that sunk deeper than submarines. I tried to imagine what Belle might see, through her blue-grey vision, as she was led into a vet’s. Those final glimpses of the world seemed too dull and ordinary for a dog who had added so much colour to my life.
From the day we brought Belle home as a pup, I felt ultra-protective. She shrieked and howled for most of the 30-minute drive along…
