Crossing the Rainbow Bridge: Stories of Pet Grief (Pt. 3)

Mary Kate Shea

Jared and I have known each other for a very long time. As long as we’ve been friends he’s known how much the animals in my life mean to me. We don’t consider our dogs pets. They are family.

While I’ve been fortunate to love a few dogs in my life so far, I wanted to write about Buddy. He was my dog for 14 years. He was the first dog I adopted on my own. He was my best friend. He gave me company when I was alone in a new state. He absorbed my tears, literally, during some of the hardest times in my life. He looked after me and losing him to cancer was a terrible blow. For two years, I didn’t adopt another dog. I was simply too sad.

Of course the first few days after his passing were awful and I just cried. But as time went on I wanted to do more for Buddy and memorialize him in some way. He literally dedicated his life to protecting me. The joy of his life was hiking with me. When he was cremated I wasn’t sure what to do with the ashes. Scatter them in his favorite field? Maybe in the woods?

When we moved, I planted a rose bush in his memory, but the deer ate it. I found this a little funny, because he would have loved living so near the woods and barking at those deer. My former father-in-law knew how much I loved Buddy and had an artist friend draw an ink sketch of him. But still I wanted to do more. And this goes to the heart of living with a losing dog, can we ever do enough for them? Do they ever know how much we love them?

In the end, I never scattered his ashes. He is with me and always will be. Two years after Buddy’s passing, we adopted another dog: Bae. He has brought us so much joy and love. We adopted him knowing we would lose him too one day. But the time we have with him is just too sweet to pass up. So, Buddy’s ashes are with me. The rose bush died, but the painting hangs on my wall. But what is really the best way to remember and to honor such a loyal good boy? For me, I decided its taking Bae on a long walk, getting him a pup cup, and never stop being with and loving dogs. They are one of the greatest joys of my life.

Annie Guarino

It was the early 90s and my family had never had a pet, and I honestly don't think my sister nor I ever even asked for one. But one night, our family friend phoned to say they had found a stray in their neighborhood who needed a good home. She brought over a small calico cat over who looked sweet, if not a little mischievous.

I was about five years old at the time and asked to name her myself. I chose Snuggles, even if at that moment she was not the most snuggly of kittens. Snuggles became a new sister and everyone loved her dearly, even my father who had grumbled about having a pet to care for. But, then you’d find him in his office, feet up on his desk on a call with the cat in his lap.

She was so patient, begrudgingly allowing my sister and me to dress her up in our dolls’ outfits and carry her around the house. Eventually she earned her name, sleeping in the crook of my knees almost every night, all through elementary, middle and high school.

In August 2004, I set off for college away from home. It was an exciting time for me, a chance to make new friends and have new experiences. When our first break came around, I was excited to come home and see my family, including Snuggles. She jumped back into her usual spot that first night and when I awoke in the morning my throat was itchy, my eyes were watery, and I couldn’t stop sneezing. I had developed an allergy to my beloved cat while away for the semester.

Over the next four years I would return home from school and battle between wanting to hold her tight and breathe easily. Ultimately, I had to force myself to distance from Snuggles, she wasn’t allowed in my bedroom any longer and I’d keep some space between us on the couch.

It became even more heartbreaking when, in 2008, she started going through renal failure. I watched her small body slowly betray her. She couldn’t eat and her hind legs gave out. All I wanted to be able to do was cuddle and comfort her in her final days but my body betraying me in this way, too. It came to a point where we knew we had to put her down, allow her to have peace. That morning, in the car on the way to the vet, Snuggles passed away in my mom’s arms. I was on my way to work and was prepared to hear how things went at the vet, but to hear she went of her own volition hit me differently.

Even today, as I struggle to write these words and process the impact this small animal had on my life, I mourn her and the time I didn’t get to spend loving her the way I wanted to, how I’d once been able to.

Final Thoughts on Finality

“Heartbreak is life educating us.”

— George Bernard Shaw

Crossing the Rainbow Bridge: Stories of Pet Grief (Pt. 3)

More of my readers' stories about the loss of their pet(s).

Mary Kate Shea

Annie Guarino

Final Thoughts on Finality

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