when my dog died essay

My dog of 9 years recently passed away. The grief of losing a pet surprised me.

• I adopted a dog, Smoosh, nine years ago, and he has been a huge part of my life ever since.
• I recently learned he had advanced lymphoma, and I had to put him down.
• The grief is weighing heavily on me and my family.

When I was a teacher , I would sometimes have students shyly approach me and say they did not complete their homework because their pet died the night before. I always told them not to worry about the homework. They were learning about loss and grief.

Sadly, two months ago, my dog, Smooshie, passed away after being with me every minute of the day for the last nine years. He came down with a slight cough, and I thought he had caught a virus from another animal he encountered at the groomer. Instead, the vet diagnosed Smoosh with advanced lymphoma and, without treatment, was told he had less than a month to live.

I wasn't ready for the hole he would leave behind in my life.

My dog was a big part of my family from the start

Almost nine years ago, I saw a picture of a young Shih Tzu on a Facebook animal shelter site. He had escaped from a terrible puppy mill. I stepped in, and Smoosh came home with me.

We came up with the name Smoosh Face because, after competing with dozens of other dogs for food at the puppy mill , he had become accustomed to smashing his face in his food to protect it and ensure he had enough to eat.

After a bit, it was just shortened to Smoosh, or as my 2- and 4-year-old would call him, Shooshie.

Smoosh had to heartbreakingly be put down

The vet said Smoosh could have a high quality of life for another couple of years with treatment. I handed them a blank check and said let's do it. But no treatment worked.

Thankfully, he was not in pain, was always eating, and was still his loveable self. But the tumors were pressing in on his trachea, and his cough was getting worse. He was starting to have trouble breathing.

On our last trip to the vet, our last car ride together, I had my come to Jesus moment. I had just been telling Smoosh that soon he would be joining our other dog up in heaven — who passed only two years prior.

While driving, I asked God for a sign that I was doing the right thing. A few minutes later, we drove by an older man walking a young Shih Tzu down the road. I drove around aimlessly for another 10 minutes, not wanting to head to the vet, and we drove by the same man with his dog.

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I decided spur of the moment to pull off to the side of the road, and the man approached me with his Shih Tzu . He saw Smoosh and asked how old he was. I could barely speak at that moment and said this was his last ride. We were heading to the vet.

This stranger put his hand on my arm and asked if he could pray for me and Smoosh. I held Smoosh, and the man prayed for us.

Fifteen minutes later, Smoosh was with me at the vet and crossing over.

His absence is still felt around the house

Anyone who has lost a beloved pet knows just how difficult this loss can be. The silence around the house has almost been unbearable. I no longer have Smoosh following me from room to room.

This loss has broken my heart , and it has been difficult to move past. My whole family is grieving.

Our young toddlers surmised that Smoosh must have run away, and I didn't have the heart or strength to tell them the truth.

To help relieve some of the grief, I decided to take the family on a trip to an animal shelter.

A four-month-old puppy was abandoned at birth and then, not long after, came down with the parvovirus. The shelter said they thought he had actually died a couple of times from it but fought through the illness and survived. He needed a family .

It had only been a month since Smoosh passed on, and I was not ready to bring home another dog, but seeing the joy on my children's faces overruled my preference.

We now have a pup named Scrappy Doo and have our hands full. I forgot just how difficult it can be to housebreak a puppy, but we're getting there.

Hopefully, Smoosh is lending a guiding paw to Scrappy from the other side.

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Home — Essay Samples — Sociology — Friendship — How I Lost One Of My Best Friends – My Dog Sammy

The Loss of a Pet that Changed My Life

• Categories: Dog Friendship

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Words: 766 |

Published: Jan 28, 2021

Words: 766 | Pages: 2 | 4 min read

Works Cited

• Albom, M. (1997). The Five People You Meet in Heaven. Hyperion.
• Barchas, P. R., & Houston, D. M. (2001). Children's grief and pet loss: A guide for parents. Routledge.
• Black, A. (2002). When a pet dies. Penguin.
• Brown, J. (2009). Saying goodbye to the pet you love: A complete resource to help you heal. Hazelden Publishing.
• Coren, S. (2004). How dogs think: Understanding the canine mind. Free Press.
• Kowalski, G. J., & Rang, J. A. (2007). Goodbye, friend: Healing wisdom for anyone who has ever lost a pet. New World Library.
• Kunhardt, D., & Kunhardt, P. (2001). Remembering lives: Conversations with the dying and the bereaved. Anchor Books.
• Nelson, T. D. (2019). The psychology of death: An introduction. Routledge.
• Serpell, J. A. (2017). Domestic dog cognition and behavior: The scientific study of Canis familiaris. Springer.
• Wolfelt, A. D. (2003). The loss of a pet: A guide to coping with the grieving process when a pet dies. Companion Press.

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How to Deal with the Tragic Death of Your Dog

A death that is tragic often involves a life that ends shortly or horrifically..

Posted March 30, 2021 | Reviewed by Abigail Fagan

• Healing from tragedy involves multiple coping strategies, such as social support, distraction, and meaningful work.
• Social support is one of the strongest predictors of improved mood and increased hopefulness following psychological trauma.
• Self-medicating in unhealthy ways, such as with alcohol or drugs, can increase one's sense of hopelessness.

Wisdom can be found in all sorts of places. Having recently watched a YouTube video that included an interview with the late author Maya Angelou, I listened as Oprah Winfrey recounted a story in which she called her friend, the author, devastated about a personal life event. Winfrey recalled Angelou’s response to her sobbing, which included the admonishment, “Stop it.” Angelou’s admonishment continued: “Say ‘Thank you.’"

Recalling the conversation, Winfrey described how she felt stunned at the suggestion, asking “Why?” The legendary author explained to Winfrey that she must first arrest herself and be grateful for the moment she was alive enough to have that experience to begin with.

The lesson Angelou imparted is one that drives the work of many spiritual teachers as they seek to teach the public that there is wisdom and greater peace of mind in living life in the present moment and understanding one's place in the world overall. No lesson is perhaps more urgent or valuable when it comes to dealing with a major emotional crisis or tragedy.

As a psychologist who has practiced for over 20 years and has heard more emotional pain than someone with a different career may imagine, I’m constantly reminded of the extent to which crisis and tragedy embody a core characteristic of the human experience. In times of crisis and tragedy, people turn to coping behaviors in different ways, universally knowing that both negative and positive coping mechanisms are available to them. Most individuals would agree that it is part of the challenge of life to gain a more accurate understanding of which coping strategies are most effective in helping individuals rebound emotionally.

When you think of the crises or tragedies you’ve experienced in your life, which behaviors did you turn to in order to get through the experience? In addition to your own experience with tragedy, you've undoubtedly watched others navigate their own. You may have watched some turn to friends or family members for support, while others turned to drugs or alcohol ; perhaps some took weeks or months off from work, while others threw themselves into it to avoid the pain.

How People Process Tragedy

Anecdotally, I can share from my years of clinical experience that one behavior is common among individuals in the wake of a major crisis or tragedy: asking themselves how the tragedy makes sense. They question how the event happened to them and often get lost in a swirl of existential questions. They also start making attributions, relying on blame (as support for a cause-and-effect explanation) or subscribing to a victim identity (as support for the argument that they were actually entitled to a different outcome). In trying to make sense of how horrible things happen, people typically rely on a religious, scientific or emotionally-driven explanation.

The most valuable question to assess about coping with tragic loss may be this one: Which explanation helps someone emotionally survive a tragedy most effectively?

In my own life recently, I experienced what was a personal tragedy for me. I watched as my nearly 2-year-old dog was killed by a car as my family members screamed at the sight and sound of her body being hit with extreme force. Within the larger context, I am but one among millions who are pet lovers and experience every day the unique and precious bond a human can have with an animal. It’s widely acknowledged that relationships with animals and dogs, perhaps especially, are so unique and painful to lose because they provide the rare opportunity for emotional intimacy without the complexity of the emotional challenges that come with human relationships.

As I’ve coped with my loss, I tried to make sense of the tragedy in different ways. I lamented how my little Ellie (pictured) had her whole life ahead of her, then later found myself thinking about far greater tragedies, like parents whose children were victims of mass violence. As I coped, I relied on the usual behaviors one would expect in dealing with a loss: I called family and friends for comfort (increasing my sense of social support); I distracted myself from my thoughts and feelings by engaging in concrete tasks; and I returned to work, reminding myself that being helpful to others will reinforce my sense of purpose. In short, I made myself useful.

Yet by the end of the emotionally painful week, I found myself watching hours of videos by spiritual teachers who offered lessons about how to manage life most effectively. I watched videos with author, physician and medical intuitive Caroline Myss; I turned to video interviews by Oprah Winfrey with experts in various humanistic fields; I listened to podcasts from psychologist and Buddhist teacher Tara Brach.

As I was able to return to work after a few days, I asked myself which coping behavior I practiced might have helped me the most to feel functional again. Based on my own self-study, I determined that it was probably the mix of many different behaviors I used. The truth is, I have no objective way of really knowing which one was most helpful.

The Importance of Multiple Coping Mechanisms

As I prepared to write this article, I reviewed extensive bereavement research, and research overwhelmingly shows what I experienced myself: It is the mix of practicing a menu of positive coping mechanisms – not just one magical ingredient – that helps a person cope with grief.

According to a recent publication by the National Institute of Mental Health (2020), the following strategies are highlighted as being most effective: spending time with supportive loved ones and trusted friends (because having social support is positively correlated with recovery from psychological trauma); avoiding alcohol and other drugs (which could otherwise add to feelings of depression and hopelessness); and maintaining normal routines for meals, exercise, and sleep (activities which are necessary for daily healthy physiological functioning).

I can confirm from anecdotal experience with thousands of patients over the years that the impact of social support is among the most powerful healers. If you are someone who is coping with the traumatic loss of your dog or another pet, take the suggestions listed in this article and make a conscious effort to connect with people or even other pets who care for you. Part of what makes the loss of a relationship so painful is the sense that you are rendered more alone than you were before, so seek out interactions that remind you how connected you truly are.

Finally, remember that you are not the only person who has experienced a painful loss. Educate and support yourself by reading articles like this and others about coping with grief, and review videos that are focused on recovery from sadness and loss. Taking action will provide proof to you that you aren't simply waiting to feel better; you actually have a plan to make that happen.

U.S. Department of Health and Human Services, National Institutes of Health, National Institute of Mental Health. (2020). Coping with Traumatic Events. Retrieved from https://www.nimh.nih.gov/health/topics/coping-with-traumatic-events/ind… .

Seth Meyers, Psy.D. , is a licensed clinical psychologist, TV guest expert, author, and relationship expert.

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Just a dog: how I felt when my pet died

As I sat by the gas fire holding him in my arms, he slowly closed his eyes. I said goodbye and thanked him for all the wonderful things we’d shared. The last of his life slipped away into a grey winter morning, lightless with a thin rain falling. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so sad. He was “just a dog”. But if you’ve ever had one, you’ll probably agree there’s no such thing.

I adopted Neil, a bright and boisterous six-year-old Patterdale terrier, in 2011 at the peak of austerity. The local dogs home was full to bursting because of high unemployment, each of its residents facing a very short life unless someone gave them a home. So he was one of the lucky ones. I was at least equally as lucky.

Portrait of Neil for condolence card, by his good friend Daisy

Time together

If I’d been so inseparable from a human friend for nine years and then they’d died, no one would be surprised if I felt an awesome and daunting sadness. It’s misguided of some people to think that because it’s “just a dog”, your grief should be less substantial. You grieve for something that’s every bit as meaningful in all sorts of respects.

The first has to do with the legendary loyalty of dogs. They may not live as long as most people but you spend an awful lot of time with them. Chances are your dog was by your side for all the major events – good and bad – and the aftermaths. Even when you didn’t want them by your side, they probably found a way to barge the door open...

Neil was by mine through three major breakups, three bereavements of close family members, and the upheaval of a relocation from the north to London, where I didn’t have many friends. It was fine, he made friends everywhere on my behalf.

We walked from coast to coast along Hadrian’s Wall, we roadtripped, we swam in seas, we explored London, and we sat up all night by campfires (on that last night, the gas fire).

So like bronze and stone and ice, dogs come to define an entire age of your life. I will always remember The Neil Age as an exciting time full of joy, challenge and change. And, of course, his love.

A caring paw

Because another reason you can feel powerful grief for a dog is that they’re very sentient, emotionally intelligent animals who care about you to a remarkable and moving extent.

I remember years ago coming home in the wee small hours, sitting down and feeling sad and teary about something or other. Neil was fast asleep but he felt the silent storm in the room and woke up. He got out of his bed, walked solemnly over, sat beside me and placed one paw on my leg, his head lowered in solidarity. My gentle sentry just sat there quietly until I felt better, then went back to bed. It’s true when people say dogs just know. And it’s sad from a selfish point of view when somebody (NB. not “some thing ”) who cares for you so deeply can never care for you again.

VIDEO: “If you feel you need to cry, you can cry” - kids share their tips on coming to terms with grief

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What Losing My Childhood Dog Taught Me About Grief and Companionship

Chloe shaw tries to answer one question: “what is a dog”.

What is a dog? In the cosmic burnout of my bright, briny beginning, I didn’t yet know the answer to that question, same as I didn’t know the answer to: What is grief? What is a hummingbird? What is love? As I imagine it, eventually my mother or father must have pointed to our old Afghan hound, Easy, and said, “Dog.” Okay, I must have thought. I see the dog, but what is it? I see its eyes, its nose, its tail trailing hair like tentacles. But what is a tentacle? What is a dog?

My parents were newlyweds when they got her from a breeder, who, in addition to selling Egyptian puppies, was an organizer in the activist group Students for a Democratic Society in New Haven, Connecticut, where my parents lived while my dad attended architecture school. They’d been given a black cocker spaniel puppy named Clyde as a wedding gift, and they thought Clyde needed a friend—though eventually, Clyde would go to live in Texas with my dad’s aunt, who was lonely and grieving after her own dog had died. My mom had had Afghans on the brain ever since seeing them all over the Upper East Side when she was a student at Barnard.

Easy was officially named Ysé, a name my mom, the French major, found in French literature. That is where she also found the name Chloe, the Greek goddess of fertility, though I was nearly named Electra since my maiden name, Bland, seemed to beg for something a little electric. (I spent more than a few hours in my thirty-three years as Chloe Bland wondering who Electra Bland would have been—and from time to time I even tried to channel her, believing Electra capable of all the things Chloe wasn’t.)

Easy’s ancestral Egyptian name was Abaicor. But, in a rational nod toward our non-French, non-Egyptian heritage, she became good old American Easy. And good old American Easy followed my parents from New Haven, to Brooklyn, to Miami (where I was born), then back to Brooklyn for good.

Easy was my parents’ first baby—even in the way she first greeted me, their second baby, when they brought me home to Coconut Grove. My dad loves to describe how they presented her with this warm, swaddled-up, black-haired thing that was me. She took one sniff, lowered her head, and, like a demoted Disney dog, slinked back to her spot on the floor.

I wonder if she ever got over that feeling or if it just became part of her along with everything else to which wolves who’ve gone dog must adjust: stairs, crowded apartments, fire trucks. I was quite young and so don’t remember life with Easy particularly well, though somehow her sheer size suggests to me that I should.

I do, however, remember bits and pieces—her silky yellow hair, for one. I remember how she used to jump up on my babysitter, Birk, like a giant praying mantis wearing a blond wig. “Easy, Easy,” he loved to say. I remember our cat, Pearl—who’d quickly and understandably developed a distaste for me when I’d tried to get a doll dress over her head—sitting on the back of the gray couch, waiting to bat Easy’s tail whenever she walked by. I remember her shape, that sinewy silhouette, as it caught itself darkly before the sliding glass door to the green light of the garden at the back of our first Brooklyn apartment on Willow Street.

Like a proper sibling, I blamed her for things. When, at age four, I’d taken my unfulfilled desire for bangs into my own hands and hidden the chunk of hair I’d clipped from the not-so-center of my head under my bedroom chair, I declared the hair “Easy’s hair” after it was discovered by my mom while she was vacuuming. I declared this, of course, as she stared like a cat, unblinking, at the mini-Mohawk sticking up like a unicorn horn from my head.

I was four and a half when Easy suddenly collapsed in the kitchen. For years, I heard the sound of her nails trying to catch the floor—her last great act of life. My mother took her to the animal hospital in midtown Manhattan, and I never saw her again. Cancer is a word they used. But how can a word so invisibly wickedly fill a dog up?

Did Easy remember my mother’s miscarriage? I don’t. I don’t remember a lot of things that must remember me. My clenched, chubby baby fists and sopping, teething mouth inevitably filled with Easy’s hair. I don’t remember walks with her or touching her, hugging her, feeling her against me, the resident human baby. I don’t remember her smell. I don’t remember having a particular bond, more that we shared the same dashing parents and tidy, tasteful living room. This is pretty well illustrated in the numerous, now dilapidated, red photo albums still kept in my parents’ bookcase on the lowest shelf under all the architecture books. There are some photos of Easy and, once I came along, a million of me, but only a couple, I recall, of us together. Easy possessed the same enigmatic, well-groomed nature as my parents and left me in my clunky do-it-yourself-bang mess. I don’t remember her making me feel better about anything—or worse. She was an animal, and I remember her as such—snout, nails, hair. But what I remember best is what it felt like to be without her when she was gone.

A dog is nothing then. A dog is a dream I once had. A disappearance. A dog-shaped hole in an empty house.

On April 1, 1980, one week after Easy died, my family moved from our rental apartment on Willow Street around the corner to our purchased brownstone apartment on Pierrepont Street, where we lived in the top two floors. We shifted from life in the low, dark garden up into the big bright rectangle of sky. My parents bought the building with their friends the Vases: Meg, a concert pianist; George (who also played the piano), a Hungarian neurologist; and their musically gifted kids, Steven (cello) and Becky (piano), four and six years older than I was. It was unusual for the sound of their concert grand not to be skittering up through the floorboards, taking hold of teacups, ankle bones, and houseplants with the tiniest vibrations. Over the years, my parents and I developed the game of guessing which Vas was playing based on the music we heard. My mom always seemed to know best.

The building was sectioned into four separate units, one on each floor, so we essentially moved into a construction zone, living in the house while whole walls were struck down and before all the rooms as we’d know them were made. We walked on thick, dirty paper and greeted each other through plastic walls like Elliott’s family in E.T. We slept as a threesome all over the place, camping out wherever was cleanest and safest. My parents still talk about how awful that period was, living amid the mess, but, as the kid, I remember it as exciting, and probably only a quarter as long as it actually was. What I don’t remember is the sadness that they must have felt after losing Easy, their first baby, and the pregnancy, what would have been their third baby. Though maybe that all quietly fits under the “awful” umbrella of which my parents speak.

For reasons I believe were seeded long before they were born, the tendency in my family and my family’s families has been to swallow hard around hard things, to will big emotions back down. From my earliest memories, I gauged how good or bad things were by how quiet it got, how absent the bodies were around me, how fast they moved, as if motion could literally propel the bad stuff away. When things were good, bodies calmed so that I could see them. We could all go back to trying to look each other in the eyes.

Maybe it was easier that we’d moved so quickly away from that house where the dog-shaped hole still lay—the baby-shaped hole, too. Everyone got busy building a new home, a space that never knew the dog or the womb or the pain that losing both must have left. Our new life on Pierrepont Street moved forward as if there’d never been a dog or the hope for any other children but me. Easy never set foot in our Pierrepont Street home, and so there was nothing to divine from her absence there. No haunting traces. Only paint chips and sawdust to pick up. And what about their third? He or she, too, had scurried off with Easy now into the driving quiet. What didn’t I miss about the miscarriage I’d missed? Where in a body does grief you dare not speak of go? Was it grief that grew a mass on my cousin Morley’s spine, years after her sister Anne died sleepwalking out a fourth-story window? Was it grief that turned the ladybug on the dead body of a dear friend’s mother into her mother? Grief holds the body itself hostage sometimes. Why not a house, too?

__________________________________

Excerpted From  What Is A Dog?: A Memoir .  Copyright © 2021 by Chloe Shaw. Excerpted by Permission of Flatiron Books, A Division of Macmillan Publishers. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.

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How to Grieve for a Very Good Dog

When my yellow Lab died last spring, I was flattened by an overwhelming sadness that’s with me still. And that’s normal, experts say, because losing a pet is often one of the hardest yet least acknowledged traumas we’ll ever face.

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I was walking home from getting my second vaccination shot last March when I suddenly felt like I couldn’t stand. Everything about the vaccine was fine. It was just that I had lost someone very dear to me a few days prior and I was overcome with crippling despair.

I plopped in the dirt next to the side of the road, wailing while I fumbled with my phone to find the number for Blue Cross Blue Shield’s counseling hotline. I explained my needs to an obstacle course of automated gatekeepers and finally got through to a human.

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“My partner died two days ago,” I managed to say between sobs.

“Oh, I am so sorry,” said the woman on the phone, clearly moved by my distress. She gave me phone numbers for grief counselors in my area; I headed home with tears running down my face.

What I didn’t say is that my “partner” was a dog. A beautiful yellow Lab named Sunny, who died at 15 and a half.

When Sunny was euthanized in my backyard two days earlier, I knew that adjusting to life without her would be hard. What happened instead was more like a tsunami of grief that swept me out to sea. Now that I’m pushing 60, I thought I was fully experienced in coping with the death of loved ones. But the sadness from losing Sunny was far greater than what I had previously endured after the passing of my parents, grandparents, and other dogs. I was surprised and somewhat terrified that I had the capacity to cry so much.

If I had lost a human partner, there would have been the usual funeral rituals, and being an emotional basket case would have seemed understandable. But our culture treats the death of a pet more like the loss of an automobile. When it wears out, you should just go buy another one. Well-meaning friends and family members had advised this in their attempts to help me feel better. What they didn’t get was that I had lost a soul mate—an irreplaceable relationship—not a piece of property.

During our more than 15 years together, Sunny was faithfully by my side as I went through a bitter divorce, raised my son alone, dealt with caring for my mother and her dementia, and endured the death of my parents, as well as PTSD caused by childhood trauma, empty-nest syndrome when my son went to college, stressful jobs, scary health issues, moving to a new town where I knew no one and, of course, the COVID-19 lockdown.

Sunny was like a handrail along the edge of a thousand-foot cliff. Navigating life’s challenges seemed doable because I knew I could hold on to her if needed. Now the handrail was gone. Trying to understand why I was in such pain, I sought out a few experts, who explained to me what it is about these transitions that makes them so difficult.

“Our pets are there for us when other humans may not be,” says Robert Neimeyer, the author of several books on grief and director of the Portland Institute for Loss and Transition . “Pets provide what psychologists call a ‘secure base’ for us where we can feel unconditionally loved and trusted. We often have the sense that they understand our emotions intuitively in ways that others do not cognitively.” Neimeyer points out that the emotional bond with a pet can be especially strong for people like me who are survivors of trauma. And he says one of the great ironies of pet loss is that we’re grieving the absence of the very companion who could have made such a significant loss more bearable.

As is true for many dog owners, my bond with Sunny was strongest in the outdoors. She shared my desire to wander in the wild more than anyone else in my life. And we did it daily, no matter the weather or what else was demanding my attention. I estimate that we hiked more than 15,000 miles together. On summer vacations and weekend trips, we hiked up to mountain summits and down to creek bottoms, through slickrock canyons and across snow-covered mesas bathed in moonlight. But mostly we just rambled for miles in the forest near my house, traveling cross-country on paths created over the years by our feet and paws. Sunny liked to walk about ten feet in front of me and insisted on carrying big sticks that were a minimum of five feet long. She would turn her head sideways to thread a stick through closely spaced trees and often looked back to make sure I was still there.

“Isn’t this amazing?” she would seem to say with her eyes.

“Yes!” I would respond, feeling life’s worries fall away.

We floated through the forest like synchronized swimmers, immersed in the joys of sticks and smells and towering pines bending in the wind. I needed this time with Sunny the way many people require coffee in the morning. It was hard to get through the day without it.

After Sunny’s death, my craving for our daily hikes—and for simply seeing her look back at me—was almost unbearable. I filled my house with pictures of her face and walked so many miles with her leash in my pack that I completely wore the soles off my hiking shoes. Eventually I connected with Richard Mercer, a grief therapist and facilitator of a pet-loss support group in Boulder, Colorado, who assured me I was not going crazy.

“The death of a pet is a very big deal,” he said. “I often have people tell me that they are surprised the experience is harder than losing their mom or dad. And there are many good reasons for why this is so.”

Unlike losing parents or other loved ones who don’t live with you, dogs and cats have an intimate place in our everyday lives. We miss their constant companionship, unconditional love, and presence as motivators: they’re a reason to get up and go on those daily walks. Mercer told me the death of a pet can also “activate grief over previous losses,” and I know what he means. I found myself crying about Sunny and also about my childhood dog Lucky, who was kept on a chain and was relegated to sleeping in a flea-infested doghouse—both at my parents’ insistence.

When Sunny was euthanized in my backyard two days earlier, I knew that adjusting to life without her would be hard. What happened instead was more like a tsunami of grief that swept me out to sea.

But the pain of loss also involves neurobiology. “Our field is just beginning to understand the positive benefits that dog ownership has to human health,” says Kevin Morris, director of research at the University of Denver’s Institute for Human-Animal Connection . Nothing against cats, but Morris says dogs are especially adept at being close friends. “All the dog breeds of today came from wolves that were, according to the theory, living off the garbage heaps of humans eight to ten thousand years ago. Dogs evolved to be companions to people in ways that other domesticated animals did not.”

Morris says researchers have found that a dog decreases anxiety and increases levels of oxytocin, a neurotransmitter, sometimes called “the love hormone,” that’s associated with maternal bonding. A study published in Science documented how simply gazing into each other’s eyes created a positive oxytocin feedback loop between dogs and their owners. Loving stares increased oxytocin levels in the dogs by 130 percent, and by 300 percent in the humans. Another study found that kissing dogs mutually increased oxytocin levels. Research has also shown that prolonged interaction between humans and dogs lowers harmful cortisol levels in both species.

“We are really wired to get that good stuff from our dogs,” says Mercer. “We associate the physical response of the oxytocin release to our connection with our dog and that is a lot of what we miss when they pass.”

I tell Mercer how I put pictures of Sunny all over my house and was walking around with her leash, apparently in a desperate attempt to get my oxytocin fix.

Doing whatever you can to feel better is a good idea. Mercer says that our culture’s widely accepted push to achieve closure by “moving on” after the death of a pet doesn’t really work. “The best thing to do is integrate the loss into your life by building a new relationship with a pet who is no longer physically present,” he explains. “We can give form to this relationship by honoring the memories of our pet, telling stories, journaling, and acknowledging our pain.” These memories embody not only the actions of our pets during their lives but also the events of our lives when the pet was supporting us.

Last March, when my 24-year-old son, Austin, and I decided it was time to put Sunny down, he flew from Los Angeles to my home in southwestern Colorado so we could give her a proper send-off. Sunny was being ravaged by cancer, but she still had an appetite. Our tight three-member pack, which had been the bedrock of Austin’s childhood, gorged for two and a half days on salmon, hamburgers, sausage, and some of Sunny’s unusual favorites, including Gouda cheese and lemon cake. Sunny could no longer hike in the forest, but we waded out with her into the Dolores River, where she had loved to swim. After Sunny was euthanized on her favorite patch of lawn amid swirls of fat snowflakes, Austin carried her inside and placed her on my bed. I anointed her with essential oils of ponderosa pine and blue spruce and tied a big pink ribbon around her neck as we prepared her for the crematorium.

I had always joked that pink was Sunny’s best color, even though she was incredibly strong and fearless. In the coming days I would tie pink ribbons around candles, my wrist, the box that held her ashes, and a stick in the backyard where I built an altar, all to remind me of Sunny’s life and the tender, sacred ceremony of her passing. This brought me comfort—maybe even oxytocin—as did some of the other tips offered by grief experts.

One of the best pieces of advice I received was the license to cry as much and as often as I needed to. I have cried every single day since March 25, when Sunny passed.

Plenty of people experience this. “I wailed like a little boy,” Robert Neimeyer says of a cat he had several years ago that was killed by a car. “It was the purest and strongest grief I have ever felt in my life.” Copious crying is our body’s way of achieving homeostasis by physically releasing strong emotions.

Though letting the tears flow is healthy, it’s crucial not to remain stuck in despair. My thoughts often turned to Sunny’s tough final three weeks rather than to the wonderful years we shared. Mercer encourages people to make a conscious effort to focus on the good times and burn these happy moments into their brains.

“Meditate on these memories as if they are happening in the present and remember how you experienced them through your senses,” he says. “This is very grounding and builds resilience so that we are better able to handle the tough memories.”

Following another of Mercer’s suggestions, I joined the pet-loss support group he leads for the Humane Society of Boulder Valley . “Pet loss is a disenfranchised grief and not everyone gets it,” he says. “So much of what comes out of the group is just normalizing and validating our feelings.”

The goal of the monthly meetings is to provide a safe place for grieving pet owners to share. Some participants hold a picture of a pet who died a few days prior and simply cry; others tell stories of a pet they lost years ago. I found every meeting to be like a giant hug.

One of the most surprising and hopeful things I learned was that my love for Sunny could be the bridge to bringing a new dog into my life—not as a way to replace her but to honor her.

“Some people may feel it would be too painful or disloyal to get another pet,” says Neimeyer. “But the deeper way of honoring the pet is to apply the lessons of loving and living this creature made possible for you by sharing that with another animal when you have reached the appropriate point in your grieving process. This kind of love is so robust that it survives the pet’s physical absence.”

As I stand there soaking in the beauty, Sunny’s physical absence often brings tears. But then in an instant, just as the sun drops below the horizon, all the clouds light up with fiery shades of pink and I feel her essence in every inch of sky.

In June, after speaking with Neimeyer, I decided to reach out to a Labrador retriever rescue operation near Colorado Springs, Colorado—a way to lay the groundwork for the day, maybe a year or two away, when I would be ready to adopt a new dog. I spoke with a breeder involved with the group and told her about Sunny. We agreed to touch base again in early 2022. Then she called a few weeks later.

“I know you weren’t planning to adopt anytime soon, but there is this dog who really needs you,” she said. “You would be the perfect owner.”

The dog was an 18-month-old yellow Lab named Trudy. Her owner had severe dementia and kept her confined to a cement dog run. A neighbor had contacted the rescue operation to report Trudy’s suffering. She’d been left alone in record summer heat and never walked. Nobody knew if her owner was giving her food or water.

The next day I drove eight hours to Pueblo, Colorado, to rescue Trudy. If I had not received counseling on pet loss, I probably would have declined, thinking I was too heartbroken to care for another dog. Instead, I took Trudy home and was soon watching her roll around in the grass and lie on a dog bed and play with toys—probably for the first time in her life. Trudy seemed like a gift from Sunny, or at least a karmic manifestation of Sunny’s positive influence on my life.

I bought her a bright red leash and have been slowly teaching her to walk in the wild. She is partly crippled from being confined to a cage, so there’s healing to do. We are healing together.

Trudy and I wander daily on a mesa near my house. It’s an awe-inspiring, oxytocin-generating landscape where a vast expanse of sagebrush is luminous green in the late afternoon light and the sky is a blue ocean filled with archipelagos of clouds. Some clouds are puffs of popcorn. Others are giant curtains of mist dangling over mountain peaks 50 or even 100 miles away.

I still carry Sunny’s pink leash in my pack. I expect I always will.

“Sunny!” I routinely shout into the sun-kissed abyss while Trudy delights in sniffing the ground. “Isn’t this amazing?”

On other days I hike alone through the forest following the favorite secret paths that Sunny and I made together. Several times I have come upon a tree or bush that takes my breath away. Tied to a twig in the middle of nowhere and for no explainable reason is a bright pink ribbon.

• Relationships

How to cope with losing a dog

For many of us, losing our dog can be absolutely devastating. They showered us with affection and love, were constantly by our side (as well as under our feet or on our laps) and were a much-loved family member, so it’s natural for you to feel that their death has left an empty hole in your life. Grieving for your dog is tough, but it’s important that you take the time to understand how you feel and find ways to cope with these difficult emotions.

Absolutely. It’s perfectly natural to be overcome by grief and sadness when you lose a dog. Your dog loved you and you loved them back. Their big personality was an enormous part of your life and your routine, so of course you’re going to mourn them.

Many of us are often surprised by just how much we’re affected by the death of our dog. Sadly, as a society, our mourning process for a pet is often seen quite differently from when we lose a human friend or family member. Many of the support mechanisms that usually help us to cope with the passing of a loved one just aren’t there when we lose our dog. We tend not to take time off work to grieve, our feelings may be unintentionally belittled (“It was only a dog” or “Are you going to get a new one”?) and we might even feel embarrassed or ashamed about how much we’re hurting. But the relationship you had with your dog was a big part of your life, and may even have been a big part of your identity. Losing that relationship and routine is bound to hurt. No matter what others may think, it’s ok to feel the way you do.

The relationship you had with your dog is unique to you, so how you feel is a testament to the special bond that you both shared. The connection we have with our dogs is often simpler than the ones we have with other people. Dogs are always there for us, are usually the first to greet us at the door, often with a frantic wag of the tail, and many of us spend more time with our dog than we do with our other family members. Because of this bond, many people find the death of their dog to be a difficult time; but it can be a confusing time too. Coping with losing a best friend and a member of the family is hard, but sometimes losing a dog is more than that.

Having a dog can create a sense of purpose and can give your day structure. Fixed feeding times, regularly taking your dog out for a walk and being woken up early all become part of your daily routine. After a dog dies, many people find this abrupt change to their life is difficult to cope with and many feel lost without it. Losing a dog is not just losing a dear friend or family member, but it can also be a loss of a way of life too.

Everyone grieves in different ways and each person that deals with loss needs something different to support them. How you grieve for your dog is unique to you; there is no right or wrong way to feel. Some people may find their grief changes and flows through different stages, while others may find that their feelings come in waves or cycles. Feeling sad, shocked, numb, angry, empty, guilty or lonely are all normal reactions to losing your dog. Feeling upset by the passing of your dog isn’t a sign of weakness; it’s a completely normal reaction to loss.

If you feel like you’re really struggling with your mental health , share how you feel with your family, friends or GP, or speak to someone on a mental health or depression helpline . You’re not alone in how you feel and there are lots of people who can help you cope with these feelings.

Sadly, there isn’t a timetable for when things will begin to feel easier. It would be nice to know how long you’re going to feel like this, but grief is a gradual process and it’s important to try to be patient with how you feel. Grief isn’t always straightforward. Some days will be easier than others, but, in general, your feelings should become less intense as time goes on. Some people feel better in weeks, while for others it may be months or even longer.

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The death of a dog can be painful and upsetting, but it’s a natural response to death and loss. There is no right or wrong way to process how you feel, but there are a few things you can do that may help you understand and cope with your grief:

• Take time to grieve - Your pet may have been part of your life for a long time, which means that getting used to not having them around might take some time too. How we grieve can’t be hurried along or forced, but it’s a process that we go through at our own pace. Try not to compare yourself to how others are feeling. We all cope with loss in our own way. You feel what you feel and you shouldn’t feel guilty or ashamed of that
• Be good to yourself - Dealing with your feelings after losing your dog can be emotionally and physically draining. Make sure you take care of yourself so that you can process your loss. Try to keep up with your everyday essentials, like eating well, getting enough sleep, socialising and exercising. If you’re able to, and need to, try taking some time off work. Carry on with your normal hobbies or maybe start a new one to help keep you busy
• Talking - Talking about how you feel and what you’re going through can be a helpful way to process your loss. It may be difficult for some people to appreciate the connection you had with your dog and to understand how you feel. If your usual circle of friends or family doesn’t understand what you’re going through, try talking to other pet owners who do. There’s nothing quite like talking to someone face-to-face, but chatting to people on social media or on online message boards can help too. There are also several pet bereavement helplines that your veterinary practice may be able to point you towards, e.g. The Blue Cross also offers a free pet bereavement service for anyone who has lost a pet 
• Put your feelings on paper - Some people find that writing down memories or expressing how they feel can help them manage their grief. Some people may paint or draw, or create a journal with photos of things they experienced with their dog. Others find it helpful to write a letter to their dog telling them how they feel and what they will miss
• Find new routines - Having a dog can give you a sense of purpose and a routine. If these are suddenly taken away from you, it can feel quite disorientating and may make you feel a little lost. Taking your dog out for a walk was great for them, but also gave you exercise and a chance to say “hi” to other owners. It’s important that you still exercise and get out. You could carry on with your daily walks, or you could find other hobbies that get you out and about and socialising again
• Remove items at your own pace - Some people prefer to tidy their dog’s things away quickly, while others take comfort from them and prefer to clear them out gradually while they process their loss. Make sure you do things at your own pace and sort out your dog’s things when you feel you’re ready to deal with them
• Have a memorial - Holding your own ceremony to scattering your dog’s ashes, or bury them in your garden, can help you process your loss. This can give you and your family a chance to express how they feel or share their favourite memories. Having a grave marker or something to remember your dog can help you feel close to them and give you a place to go when you miss them. Other ways to help remember your dog are by planting a tree, putting up photos or creating a memory box that holds some of the things that remind you of your dog
• Dealing with signs of depression - The shock and emotional devastation of losing a dog can trigger mental health problems. Negative feelings are natural while your grieving, but if you feel that these emotions are out of control, or if you’re concerned that you may be depressed, then talk to your family, friends and your GP

Making the decision to have your dog put to sleep is one of the hardest choices any owner has to make. It’s normal and common for owners to feel guilty about having their dog put to sleep and many owners ask themselves if they made the right choice. If you blame yourself, remember that you made an impossible decision out of love and because they weren’t going to get better. Choosing to say goodbye to your dog is never easy, but remember that it was the best decision for your dog and it was a tough choice that you made because you cared for them.

Losing a dog can be a confusing and distressing time for any child. Whether this is their first experience of death, or something they’ve been through before, it’s an opportunity to help them understand and cope with their feelings of loss. How you help your child really depends on their age, but it’s important to be honest with them and explain what’s happened in a sensitive and age-appropriate way. 

Children learn how to behave by watching those around them, so how you react while you’re grieving can influence how they cope with the death of their dog. It’s important for you to talk to them about your emotions and how you feel and reassure them that it’s ok to feel sad. Your child will be grieving too and may feel a range of emotions that might be confusing to them. If they choose to talk about their feelings, make sure that they feel listened to by empathising with what they say. You may not feel as sad as your child, but you should ensure they have time to grieve and let them talk openly about how they feel.

As well as feeling sad, some children may feel angry, guilty or might blame others for the passing of their dog. For some children, it may make them scared that they’re going to lose other people or things that they love. Death can raise a lot of questions in a child’s mind, so it’s important to try to answer their questions to help them understand more about what’s happened and what it means to die. These questions can be incredibly tough and upsetting to answer, especially if you’re grieving too, but try to be as honest and sensitive as possible. You could try going to your local library to find books for children on coping with loss.

To help them manage their grief, let your child find a creative way to remember their pet. This could be decorating a framed photo that they put by their bed, a memory box, a drawing, a painting or they could write a letter to their dog. Holding a memorial service for your dog may also help them come to terms with their loss and might help them to talk about how they feel.

It’s important that your child is given time to grieve and process what their loss means to them. Getting another dog, or a replacement pet, could make them feel disloyal to the dog they have just lost. Buying a dog too quickly could also give them the wrong message and imply that their dog wasn’t important and can easily be replaced. It’s better to wait until the whole family has come to terms with the death of their dog and decide together when you’re all ready for another pet.

Coping with the loss of a pet can be especially difficult for some older people, particularly if they live by themselves. Having the sole companionship of a dog gives their owner a routine, regular exercise and a great excuse to chat to people. After losing a dog, it’s very easy for their house to feel empty, quiet and lonely, and may bring back familiar feelings of loss that they’ve experienced throughout their life. Getting another dog may be a complicated decision to make, especially if there’s a chance that the new dog could outlive their owner. If you live by yourself, try to keep busy and active. It’s very easy to stay at home, especially when grieving, but joining a new club, taking a new class or regularly meeting friends or neighbours might help you work through your grief.

When a dog dies, other dogs or pets may be confused as to where they are and may grieve as well. Your pets may whimper, go off their food , seem down or may come to you for reassurance. Make sure you give them plenty of positive attention and try to stick to their normal routine. Try playing games with them or taking them for more walks to help distract them. Focusing on your other pets can help make them feel better, but can help you deal with the death of your dog too.

Sadly, it’s fairly common for breeders to lose puppies, either during pregnancy or whelping . Animals with a larger litter size sometimes have a puppy that is stillborn, or fades quickly. Although it’s a natural part of breeding, it doesn’t make it any easier to see. Breeders can take every step to make sure that the mother and father are a suitable match, with great health results and low inbreeding coefficients, and still lose puppies. Sometimes, a large number of puppies or an entire litter can be lost, and it can be devastating for a breeder. Their grief is often mixed with confusion over what happened and questions about if they did anything wrong. Unfortunately, these things sometimes happen and are usually completely unpredictable. Make sure you give yourself time to grieve and process these complicated feelings, and talk to your vet to help you try to understand what happened.

After your dog has died, many owners are tempted to rush into getting a new pet to replace them, but this may not be a good idea. There are lots of reasons why having a dog in your life is wonderful, but charging into a big decision like this, especially while you’re still grieving could be a mistake. Having time to grieve and deal with your loss can help you build stronger and healthier relationships with any future dogs you may get. Getting another dog too soon might not be fair to the new dog, as you may have unrealistic expectations that they can replace the dog you recently lost. Each dog is different and a new dog may have a completely different personality to the dog you lost, even if they’re the same breed or from the same family.

Knowing when to get another dog is a very personal choice to make. You’ll know when the time is right for you, but always make sure that you get a new dog for the right reasons. Whenever you’re thinking of getting a new dog, always think about it carefully and ask yourself whether it’s the right thing to do, how it might affect you and your life and whether it would be right for the new dog too.

Everyone copes with grief in different ways. How a person feels after their dog has died will depend on the relationship they had with their dog. Don’t be afraid to ask them how they are. For many people, the loss of a dog is painful and devastating, but talking about how they feel can help them process their grief. Losing a dog is not just about losing their best friend, or even a family member, but it’s a loss to their normal routine as well. Taking a dog out for a walk several times a day can be stress relieving and a great way to exercise and meet other dog walkers. No longer having those routines can often make people feel lost and unsettled.

If someone you know has lost a dog, make sure to check in on them. Ask if there is anything that you can do, offer to keep them company or ask if they want to go for a walk. Always try to empathise with the way they feel and let them grieve in their own time.

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DOGthusiast: for dog enthusiasts with active dogs

One of the best dog blogs for active dogs, dog sports, training, behavior, & products.

What I learned from losing my dog

October 11, 2010 by Jen deHaan (@dogthusiast) 99 Comments

Our wonderful Mikey dog passed away, way too soon from a sudden and terrible illness , on Sept. 1st, 2010. We had him in our lives for 8 months, adopting him from Peninsula Humane Society in San Mateo, California. We and the vets think he was around 7, and he was in peak physical shape when he passed. I jogged with him most evenings, and we took him on an hour walk/run on the beach every morning, and to Fort Funston most weekends – he had a strong heart. That strength gave him a fighting chance – several vets noted how strong his heart was, how they couldn’t believe he could stand and walk while so anemic. He also had a great string of emergency and specialist vets who were well versed and very experienced fighting this disease. But despite this, auto-immune hemolytic anemia (also known as IMHA or AIHA) took him from us in three short, terrible days and all the while we don’t know what caused it. We just knew he had a very bad case of it. This is the story of losing my dog, Mikey.

Those three days were unreal, both in how stressful and unexpected they were. They still feel like this surreal nightmare. My husband and I shared our 10th anniversary the day before, and were taking Mikey on a week long vacation starting the following day – but that day he became “not quite right” (and our regular vet who saw him wasn’t yet concerned – it was that subtle). But that night, we had him at the emergency vet and we learned about his disease, his prognosis, and that he was so sick that he almost died a mere 12 hours after his initial “things are not too bad, you can still go on vacation if you want” vet exam. Thank goodness we decided to postpone our departure!

Those days while he was fighting the disease were so sad, so horrible. How unbelievable traumatic. Nightmarish. At the end of those three days were many more horrific, sad, stressful days where I felt like the wind was knocked out of me. And my chest just hurt from the stress – strong, physical pain to go with the emotional pain. Not to mention we couldn’t see him during those days, and my greatest fear was him dying alone.

But from the loss comes an understanding. I realized that I had to “do something” from the loss so it wasn’t in vain. And I want to share what I learned in case it helps others – and from that, our Mikey can leave some kind of legacy to others in addition to the strong legacy he leaves us who knew him.

It’s amazing to me that we only had him in our lives for eight months. I can go on, and on, and on about all the wonderful things he brought into our lives. All the experiences we shared. And for that, I am incredibly grateful to that ‘medium-sized senior black dog’ we adopted, who was abandoned at the shelter for many weeks until we found him on December 23rd, 2009. An incredibly terrific day in my life.

And this is what losing my dog Mikey taught me:

1) Live every day to the fullest

Dogs live for the now, we need to as well. And we shouldn’t cop out on doing activities with these dogs – we’re all winners if we go on that walk, take that trip, buy them that bully stick and the ice-cream cone too. It’s the bestest thing EVER for them, and that look on their face “you got that for ME?” is a memory you’ll carry for a long, long time.

Some of the memories that I carry with me about Mikey are small ones: the way he looked at me one day, some reaction he had to some small event, some regular outing we made where he did something special. Mikey was a shy dog, and we had to work on his confidence so he could be happier in this world. So those small steps he made each day gave me the greatest joy (his first on-leash pee after two months was SUCH a great morning! and I almost cried with relief after he pottied after holding it for 36 hours that first day…), and I also knew I had to do a LOT of things with him to help him grow that confidence.

As such, we had a lot of work to do! But that work really filled those eight months with many great outings, and I can’t say “I wish we did more” because we did so many things! All I can say is I wish we had more time to do more. More months together, because I already had plans for this fall for therapy dog training, taking a canoe trip on the Russian River, and that trip to Oregon to run on super-clean beaches we were set to leave on the day he got sick. But even though we’re missing out on those things, we honestly had a packed eight months.

Every morning we woke up at about 6:30 to spend an hour going to Ocean Beach in San Francisco, so Mikey could run and see other dogs. We saw Frodo and Jasmina (and new pup Jasper that last morning), saw Lexi most mornings in passing, Billy a few times, and his most favorite schanuzer-mix nearly every morning but for some reason don’t know his name. But we were there, day in and day out. Rain, shine, fog. The only days we missed a walk was when there was a full-blown storm (and even those days we sometimes took a short 20 minute walk to the bottom of the street until we both realized how ridiculous it was). But we walked through thunder and lightening: Mikey didn’t care, so out we went anyway. He was all about going for a walk, and getting to smell those SMELLS. Life was all about getting to the next smell and then peeing on it.

Every evening we would go out again as soon as I got home from work, although we varied these walks depending on the amount of daylight and how tired I was!  Sometimes it was a jog, sometimes a brisk walk, sometimes out on the avenues, sometimes around Lands End trails. But it was always relaxing, nearly an hour, and I was so happy to be with my guy. Afterwards, every night we would eat dinner together and then relax on the couch, him splayed out between my knees or right across my body – lounging. Nothing better than ending a day like that.

But the best part of the day, every day, was getting home to see my dude… hearing that thump as the recliner hit the wall as he jumped out of it to come to the door as I was opening it and calling to him “Duuuuuuude!!!!”… his tail wagging and usually a little pine from his throat.

On weekends we would take him on other outings, farther away from the city or to Fort Funston since it was his favorite place in the world due to sand dunes. He adored running up and down the dunes.

We also took him to several open areas in North Bay for off-leash hikes (such as under Mt Tam), to East Bay to hike off leash on the hills around the cows and he could roll in cow pies (not to our delight, but he was immensely happy), and to various areas down the peninsula and Santa Cruz. We took him to eat lunch multiple times at Pasta Moon in Half Moon Bay, where they’d give him a bowl of water, kids would marvel at the weird people sitting in the hallway outside the restaurant, and he would make a wide berth around the odd-sounding heater they have in the lobby. And we took him on an adventure to Utah, via Yosemite. It was our first and last vacation, but he did wonderfully in the car, hotels, and rental unit.

It was only 8 months, but every day we spent all of our free time together, growing together. Me learning to de-stress and relax, him growing in confidence. We trusted each other, and learned boatloads in the meantime.

2) Remember the small things

I seem to remember small moments more than the overall “large picture”, and I’m not sure if that’s because we had Mikey for such a short period of time comparatively speaking. But so many things between us were so striking. I remember that first moment seeing him in his dark kennel at the shelter, walking up to the gate with that look in his eyes. I remember watching him for ages, and him probably wondering about that crazy woman at the other side of the gate. I remember frantically rushing back to adopt him, hoping no one had beat us (despite him being there for nearly 2 months!) Then we had to goto Pet Food Express and Costco, picking up “dog supplies” (we had no clue what size of dog we were getting… so now that we knew, we had to go pick that stuff up). He was so scared, so we hung around the grass outside as the smells relaxed him. That car was packed to the gills, but he was totally happy to squish in between it all with me!

But above all, I remember that moment of nervousness the second that leash was handed to me at the shelter – “oh my gosh, I’m a dog parent!” That was soon remedied with this feeling of joy, as Mikey ran into our living room after the stress of Costco and Pet Food Express — and he wagged his tail for the first time. He knew he was home. Then went over to my husbands floor-cushion, and turned it into a dog bed. So long ago, but I can feel those moments like they were yesterday.

The life-changing moment came weeks later, as Mikey lay between my legs on the bed as I read a book, and gazed up at me with a look of “I trust you now, you are my person”. I couldn’t believe he didn’t have a family. At that moment I knew I had to do more for dogs like him, and that’s when I knew I had to volunteer and do something better with my life. Dogs like him die in droves – older, black, larger, shelter dogs. And dogs like him are way too life-changing-awesome to die in the numbers they do. Listening to that small moment was important, that I learned.

But there are so many small, happy moments on a day-to-day basis. The sun on their face, a happy dog smile, a hop in their step, a wag of their tail when you call their name (this especially for the rehab shy dogs, at least!). The happiest memory came from our vacation together to Utah. We took Mikey out for ice-cream on a wonderful, warm summer night. We had never given him ice cream, or human food from a table for that matter. Peter bought us a cone to share, and on a whim I passed it down to Mikey. He looked at me as in “you made a mistake, you never give me people food”, but took a lick. And then another. And then started gulping down the ice cream as fast as his tongue would allow. I passed it back to Peter, then me, and then I glanced down at Mikey… he was standing there with the biggest sloppy dog grin I had EVER seen on his face, his tail wagging like crazy “My turn!!!”  We repeated passing it between the three of us until the ice cream was gone, and he was the happiest dog in Kanab that night I’m sure.  Eating that ice cream was possibly the happiest I had ever seen him, and that memory is etched into my head forever.

3) Take pictures (and video!)

I only have one video of Mikey on the dunes in Fort Funston, but I am forever glad that I took it. I also have a video of what he was like when I arrived home each day (or an approximation – he was a bit shocked to see the camera in front of my face that day!)  And tons of photos. But I wish I took more, in hindsight, being the sentimental sap that I am.

(I just made this one public… our house was such a mess!  But my gosh did I just bawl watching this…)

I think the biggest “mistake” I made was never taking photos of the two of us, until the bitter end. Sure we had a couple at a distance, but none of the photos were of the two of us looking at the camera. So the only such photo I have like that is when we took him from the emergency vets to the specialists. And it’s sad! I know it was the last time I held him, walked him, the final car ride. But… I’m so thankful I even thought to take the camera and get that photo at all, or I wouldn’t have had any.

So I have now learned to take lots and lots of photos to capture the good times.

4) Think about what they’ve inspired you to do, or can inspire you to do

As mentioned in section 2, Mikey inspired me to volunteer with dogs and promote adopting dogs in general. Mikey also inspired me to make some changes in my life after his death, highlighting what’s important in life (family, friends, some form of real support). And also that time is important, just not to waste time. Life is very short.

I’m also amazed at the wonderful effect Mikey had on kids. It was wonderful how patient and gentle he was with kids (and also how their parents just let their kids run up to him and touch him while at off-leash parks without asking if he was OK with children – thankfully we were responsible owners and he was a gentle dog!) Mikey would stand there and just let kids pet him, he would sit down if they sort of “kid-handled” him. One toddler slapped him on the back, and he just sat down and stayed there for a good five minutes. The most he would do is lick their hands or face (I always had to warn parents “He might give kisses!!”) He was such a testament to patience, he was a born therapy dog for children. He was naturally a shy dog, not really born to be a therapy dog for the elderly (he didn’t have that “happy to greet everyone” personality), but he had this quiet, zen patience that seemed to be a magnet for children. And be perfect for children who were nervous about dogs – and he wasn’t a small dog, either!  If you ever have a dog like this, consider therapy work. I’m crossing my fingers our recent adoptee may be like this. To teach children how to properly interact with dogs is one of the most important lessons you can teach, knowing the percentage of dog bites that involve children due to a lack of education.

So thinking about what he inspired during his lifetime, to volunteer and inspire future therapy work, and motivating me to spend more time with friends and family, is something that will change my life forever. Mikey’s lessons will be with me until the day I die, and I will forever thank him for that.

5) Remember what did they bring into your life, and you to theirs

Knowing the vast amount of positive change that Mikey brought into our life, in itself, made his passing not be in vain. Mikey gave me life, a life that was worth so much more than it did previous to having him. It gave me a clear sense of meaning and purpose, to look after this dog, and to help other dogs that are presently less fortunate than he is (now having a family).

We adopted Mikey because I had desperately wanted a dog for so long, and I was going through a sort of health crisis that left me feeling desperate for change. I also had a lot of work stress, and felt the urgent need for change. So we got our life in order, fixed our work-life balance, and were ready for a dog. So we searched Petfinder (after being rejected for an elderly greyound because our fence was too short), and made a shortlist of dogs to go visit.

Not long after Mikey entered our life, I found a new sense of calm and the stress just melted away. Not only did I notice, but others made random comments at the office about the change, without knowing it was because of a dog. Even my mom noticed. Yes, dogs can be miracles, and fix so much. You don’t just give them a chance at life, they give you a chance at life too.

But even when you do succumb to the stresses of life, Mikey was there to help. I remember one day that was simply horrible. I was angry for whatever reason, and just had to ‘leave’. I put Mikey on a leash, and we stormed into a grey, rainy, horrible day. We sat at the bottom of the block, him quietly at my side as I sat there steaming mad at whatever it was. It quickly lost all importance. We continued on a walk, and he slowly cheered me up. He fixed that day, just like he fixed my life.

But as much as he brought to my life, I do also accept that I brought some quality to his. Mikey was in the shelter for a long time before we adopted him – partly because he did fit a profile of a less-adoptable dog. He was shy too, and barely paid us any attention during our adoption counsel. But we took a chance, betting on him. We put some elbow grease into his rehabilitation – making him more confident, giving him a bunch of experiences. And together we all won.

(And by the way, in the above photo he is COVERED in cow pie. I think he thought he was sooooo clever to bring us that smell…)

6) Remember what they make you realize when they pass

Because Mikey got so sick, so fast, “time” was what I thought about the most, and still think about. We only had eight months together, which made every moment that much more precious. It also meant that I quickly realized how fleeting time is – how short our time can be together. And how we just can’t delay doing things.

I lost my “childhood” dog only 3 weeks before Mikey died, and I had been putting off going to see him. I meant to, but I kept delaying the trip. And then it was too late. Fate took my own dog only 3 weeks later, and very unexpectedly. I barely got to take a photo of us together, and I only had 8 months with my soul dog. Thus, time was the biggest take-away from losing both of them, and I began applying this to other areas of my life.

I also realized the importance of being close to good vets , emergency facilities, and specialists can also be very important.

Knowing your dog , and what is abnormal for them (breath rate, energy level, appetite) is incredibly important. And knowing to check their gums whenever something seems not-quite-right, and get their blood checked with immediate results, is of the utmost importance. Do not accept any compromises if you encounter lethargy (even the slightest) combined with anorexia (loss of appetite) and pale gums. Please please please get someone familiar with AIHA to check your dogs blood test results. But long story short: know your dog, and if something seems wrong, listen to your gut and have everything checked out if something seems wrong. Don’t worry that you’re overreacting.

Research everything . There is a lot of information online, so research what you can and take it up with your vet. Don’t necessarily be that “patient who googles”, but instead be the patient who researches so you can ask the right questions, and interpret the information your vet tells you. And if you aren’t happy with your vet, change offices or get a second opinion! Don’t settle – you pay a lot of money to visit the vet, and your companion is too valuable for settling.

Question drugs . Knowing what I do now about the horrible toxins we subject our animals to, I will never apply another dose of flea medication even if it is recommended. I gave a few doses to Mikey at the advice of a vet after he suddenly began scratching incessantly and the “most likely culprit” was flea dermatitis (even though he had no evidence of fleas).  I don’t know if the Frontline killed him, but knowing how many dogs it does kill, and that it probably causes AIHA in some, my dogs will never get another dose of those horrible toxins again. It doesn’t make sense to apply medications that I am not supposed to get onto my skin – that is simply way too frightening, given there are so many safer alternatives.

The same will go for other overly prescribed medications (steroids, worming medications, and so on) and vaccinations, and we are now going with holistic vets, titers, and home-cooked meals for our animals. The thing that angers me the most is I knew this long ago with my cat, and somehow lost my way. Mikey helped us get back on track – we are (again) considering everything that goes on or into our companions.

But most of all, Mikey’s passing taught us to take the difficulties of our lives and instead of letting it get us down, to let it propel us to something positive. I am taking what he gave me, and putting it to good use: improving the way I care for myself and for my companion animals.

7) Consider adoption, including needy dogs who need an extra helping hand.

As noted earlier, Mikey was a “less adoptable” dog – and proved to be the best possible dog-friend in the world. I couldn’t imagine not adopting, being as I am in the shelters on a regular basis and meeting so many wonderful dogs I want to take home with me. But it has made me only want to adopt dogs who need an extra helping hand, either “less perfect” temperaments or discriminated breeds. I tend to gravitate towards the shy dogs, which is why our current companion caught our eye (she had the “Mikey look” in more than one photo – but is actually much shier than he ever was and failed her temp test poor thing).

I don’t think this, by any means, should be “try to adopt the least desirable dog” or someone with major issues. Definitely not – it’s terribly tragic that healthy, adoptable, friendly dogs are put to death every day, there are many dogs in terrific shape who desperately need homes. And many dogs may simply be too much to handle unless you’re a trained professional (I’m certainly not by any means!) I simply feel that Mikey inspired us to look at dogs who are terrific that still get passed over on first inspection – such as “big black dogs”, older dogs, shyer dogs, some dog who isn’t quite as “cute” as the others. These guys make terrific pets, have many quality years (typically!), and shy dogs often just need a bit of patience and proper handling to turn into soulful, wonderful, loyal, and eternally grateful companions.

8) Love them every day like it may be their last.

The one thing you learn so quickly about AIHA is that it strikes swift and hard. The symptoms are so subtle that they’re easy to miss, and it can almost be “too late” when you finally pick up on something being wrong. There’s a chance you can be too late, with this and every other sudden form of death. And from that I learned to make the most of everything that you have, every day, with your loved ones both two-legged and four-legged.

Now go kiss your dog, and give them the best walk ever .

About Jen deHaan (@dogthusiast)

Jen deHaan is graphic designer, small business owner, and dog person living in Bay Area, California. Jen enjoys learning about dog training and behavior, and has taken several courses and seminars since 2010. She also contributes articles to leading websites, such as Victoria Stilwell's Positively . It all started with a great dog called Mikey (aka "dude") , loved and lost but remembered forever.

Jen also runs a freelance business focusing on graphic, web, and UI design at FoundPixel , and a small business creating hand crafted dog products at Stylish Canine .

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• Coping With Grief

How to Deal With Grief After Your Dog Dies: 11 Tips

Updated 05/2/2022

Published 12/2/2020

Dr. Alejandra Vasquez, JD, CT

Certified Grief Counselor

Cake values integrity and transparency. We follow a strict editorial process to provide you with the best content possible. We also may earn commission from purchases made through affiliate links. As an Amazon Associate, we earn from qualifying purchases. Learn more in our affiliate disclosure .

Suffering the death of your beloved dog and faithful companion can be heart-wrenching. This type of blow can leave you suffering great pain, sadness, and confusion over days, weeks, and months. Losses such as the death of a dog can often go unrecognized by friends and family who may not understand when you tell them, “I’m devastated that my dog died.”

Jump ahead to these sections:

What you can do to help your grief immediately after your dog died, what you can do when you’re missing your dog after it died.

• What You Can Do When You’re Overcome WIth Tears After Your Dog Died

What You Can Do to Remember or Memorialize Your Dog After It Died

Some people are unable to comprehend the significance of a pet companion’s death. However, it is important to remember that experiencing grief over the loss of your dog is real and immeasurable. There are days when you’ll feel the effects of your loss more than others.

Dealing with your grief after your dog dies may prove challenging at first, but in time, you’ll learn how to survive through your loss little by little with each passing day.

After suffering this type of loss, you may not know what to do when your dog dies . There are so many thoughts and emotions racing through your head that you may be unprepared for the grief reaction that follows.

Grieving the death of your dog is normal and expected. You may need some time to start feeling back to your old self after their death. You can do some things immediately after their death to help you cope with your grief to lessen the effects of your sorrow and pain. 

1. Hold your dog

Coping with a pet loss is one of the most challenging things to go through, especially if it was just the two of you providing love, companionship, and support to the other. Losing a pet can feel as emotionally devastating as losing a loved one. Sometimes it can feel worse, depending on how close the two of you were. 

To help ease the emotional pain of losing your pet, it helps to hold them one final time. Don’t be afraid to hug your dog close to you immediately after they die. Holding your dog, hugging, and kissing them will help give closure to your relationship. Talk to your vet about proper disposal, cremation, or burial of your dog’s body after you’ve had time to say your final goodbyes.

2. Say your goodbyes 

Take the opportunity to say your final goodbyes to your dog immediately after it dies. Talking to your dog and saying the things you needed to say one last time will ease some of the pain of losing them.

You can tell your pet how much you loved them and what they meant to you. Let your dog know that it’ll be challenging to move forward without them there to greet you as before, but that you’ll slowly try to find new meaning in your life now that they’re gone.

3. Talk to someone

Call someone you trust immediately after your dog dies so that they can come over and console you during this difficult time. Going through this experience alone can be especially challenging. Having someone to share your grief with will make it easier for you to cope with your loss. 

When choosing who to call, keep in mind that not everyone is sympathetic to the loss of a pet. Some people simply cannot understand how a dog can mean so much to you. You may hear insensitive responses to your loss, such as, “It was just a dog,” or “you can always get another one.” Try and avoid calling someone with this particular outlook on pets, so they don’t make you feel worse than you already do. 

You can expect that you’ll go through good days and suffer some bad days after your dog dies. Emotional ups and downs are a normal part of the grieving process and should be expected to occur for several weeks after your cherished pet’s death.

To help you while you’re mourning the death of your dog, consider engaging in activities that’ll help lift your spirits whenever you’re missing them the most. 

4. Go through their things

Don’t get rid of all of your dog’s toys, blankets, and things immediately after they die. Consider placing their favorite things in a bin and storing them for later use when you feel the need to be close to them.

During those days, when you’re missing your dog, pull out the bin and go through all the mementos that you’ve stored. You may find yourself bursting into a fit of tears, but this release of emotions is good for you as you begin to heal from your grief.

5. Look at old photographs

Going through old pictures of you and your dog more than likely will make you laugh and cry all at the same time. You may find yourself missing them at that moment more than ever.

Expect that the photographs will cause you to remember things that you may have forgotten about your pet. Don’t allow feelings of guilt or shame to surface for having forgotten certain things about your dog or for continuing to mourn their death.

6. Talk to others about your dog

Sharing stories and memories of your pet with others will help you deal with your grief. The more you talk about your pet, the more you’re able to release any emotions you may have unwittingly been suppressing.

Some people may not understand why the death of your dog has affected you so much. You may want to skip talking about your pet and your grief to them and consider talking to someone else who understands the significance of your loss. 

What You Can Do When You’re Overcome With Tears After Your Dog Died

The death of your beloved pet can be traumatic and a devastating loss to have to shoulder. There will be times when your emotions will get the better of you, and you might find it difficult to control your sadness and sorrow. 

7. Take a few deep breaths 

There’s nothing wrong with expressing your feelings and emotions. It’s okay to cry whenever you feel an overwhelming need to do so. Consider taking a step away from a public area and finding a quiet space where you can be alone with your grief. 

Allow the tears to flow and take a few deep breaths to help calm yourself. Pay close attention to each breath that goes in, hold it for a second or two, and slowly release it to the count of five. In a few minutes, you’ll find that your grief has somewhat subsided, and you’re ready to resume whatever you were doing. 

8. Go for a walk

Walks can be very therapeutic when you’re grieving a loss. Whenever you find yourself overcome with grief, take a few minutes to go out for a walk. Don’t let the weather detract you from going out to enjoy nature.

Sometimes a little bit of fresh rain or brisk air can do wonders for the soul. Bundle up if you need to, but do find the time to take a walk to help calm your emotions. 

9. Cuddle your other pets

Sometimes when a pet dies, you might find yourself neglecting any others you might have. If you have more than one pet, set some time aside to love and cuddle your other pets.

You’ll not only feel better, but they’ll also feel better as well. Pets grieve their losses in much the same way that you do. They feel and understand the loss of other pets in the household and can sense your pain.

Experiencing the loss of your dog can trigger some intense pain and emotional responses. Your grief reaction to their loss will depend on how long you had your pet, the bond you shared, and their death circumstances. 

To further help you cope with your grief, it might help you read books about losing a pet . These books offer tips and advice on dealing with your pet’s loss and how to move forward and heal your pain.

10. Have a memorial plaque made

One way to commemorate your pet’s life and death is to have a memorial plaque made with their picture and dates of birth and death etched in. This is a beautiful way to create a lasting pet memorial to help you get through some of the more challenging days ahead. 

11. Plant a garden

A pet memorial garden is another way to remember your furry loved one after it has died. The grieving process after a pet loss can last anywhere from several weeks to several months. In some instances, you’ll grieve the death of your pet for many years after they’ve died.

Planting a memorial garden in their honor will help alleviate some of the pain associated with their loss. If you don’t have an outdoor space dedicated to their memory, consider installing an indoor rock or zen garden. 

12. Donate a park bench

You can create a legacy in your dog’s honor whenever you donate a park bench engraved with their name on it. To help you cope with your loss, consider installing a bench in some of your favorite places that you’d take your dog to. The local dog park or town square is a good place to seek permission to sponsor or donate a bench. 

To find out if you’re able to have a memorial bench installed, contact your local city offices or parks and recreation department. They will know who to direct you to determine the availability and costs associated with donating and installing a memorial bench. 

Coping After Death of Dog

Dealing with the loss of a pet can deplete your energy and overall well-being. It’s essential to continue to take care of yourself as you learn to live without your beloved and cherished pet. Take the time necessary to grieve your loss, and don’t be ashamed of missing your dog and grieving over their death. In time, you’ll start to feel better slowly.

After you’ve healed, this might be an excellent time to consider adopting another pet if you think you’re ready to do so.

Categories:

• Loss Of Pet

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Understanding and Coping with the Loss of a Pet

“My children have four paws. My grandchildren have fur. My dog is smarter than your honor student.” Whether boasted on a bumper sticker or proclaimed aloud, these phrases capture the importance people place on their relationships with their pets. Indeed, the relationship between human and animal is special.

The loss of a pet is devastating, and many pet owners find the grief associated with the loss of a pet just as or even more challenging than the loss of human loved ones. People who do not experience the deep love and companionship of a pet find this difficult to understand and may not be able to validate the experience of the person who is grieving. Leave from work is not typically granted when a pet passes. Funerals for pets are becoming more common but are still not commonplace. Because the loss of a pet is not experienced in the same universal way that we experience the loss of a human in our lives, pet parents often feel isolated and misunderstood during their grief. When someone’s pet passes, only those who love animals a great deal and regard them as members of the family understand the magnitude of this event. That universal sense of support that we find so helpful in times of human loss and bereavement can be starkly lacking when a pet departs. This lack of universal empathy is one of several reasons why pet bereavement poses unique challenges.

Pets love us unconditionally.

Being there to love and support us is a pet’s primary job. They think our extra 15 pounds is super snuggly, our garlic-laced lunch smells delicious, and our old tattered sweatshirt is the softest thing ever. Whether our bank accounts overflow or overdraw is of no concern to them. However we are is wonderful in the eyes of our pets. Unfortunately, human relationships often do not provide this level of loving acceptance.

Pets know our secrets.

Our pets have seen the most vulnerable sides of us. They have bore witness to our best moments…and our worst. They have seen our tears and know our true feelings perhaps better than anyone else, partly because of their keen perceptiveness and partly because we do not feel the need to hide it from them.

Pets are dependent upon us and are, in a sense, like perpetual “furry children.”

Our pets derive their food, shelter, affection and entertainment directly from us just like children. The deep love and intimacy of that bond does not change as our pets get older. Our pets do not move off to college, get married, and start families of their own. We are their entire world. And, for some of us, they are ours. To lose this very special type of relationship rivals or surpasses bereavement of other types, and can constitute a trauma in the life of the human left behind.

While the loss of a pet holds special challenges for the pet parent, the elements of grief that we feel when we lose a human still apply. For example, bereaved pet parents are plagued with irrational guilt. The last time you ignored the shaking toy at your feet and turned away to finish work on your computer haunts you, even if you usually indulged your pet with playtime. Questions like “What if I hadn’t been two weeks late scheduling the annual veterinary exam?” taunt you, even when nothing could have changed the outcome. Bereaved pet parents are often angry that their pet was taken from them by disease or accident or just generally angry that pets are destined for a shorter life span than us humans. For animal lovers, even a “long life” for our pet is simply never long enough.

If you are struggling with the loss of a pet, consider the following points to help you in your journey.

• Your grief is valid. While some people who have a different type of understanding or relationship with animals may not be able to relate or support you in your time of need, other animal-lovers who feel similarly to you understand the depth of your pain. Connecting with others who understand pet loss can help lessen the feeling of isolation and negative judgment you may experience from others in your life. The rainbow bridge ( www.rainbowbridge.com ) is a wonderful free resource and online community for those grieving the loss of a furry family member.
• You should not compare your grief to anyone else’s experience. Focusing on whose loss is “worse,” as some are want to do, is not helpful. What matters is that this is  your  loss and you have to cope with it in your own way. Even if others do not respect that, respect that for yourself.
• Realize that the guilt you feel is irrational in nature and is a normal part of the bereavement process. Simply knowing this will not stop these feelings from happening, but it will help you to work through them when they do.
• Bereavement is a temporary state that feels like it is going to last forever. The passage of time will do a lot to help you to smile and laugh at the good memories and appreciate the positive impact that your pet had on your life.
• You have a lot of love to give that can now be rechanneled. It is a very individual and personal decision if and when to invite another pet into your life. Realize that sharing your love with another animal is not a betrayal of your beloved pet. Opening your home and heart to another animal can be a way to honor your past pet. If you are unable or not ready to do so, consider volunteering your time or resources at an animal shelter or rescue. Do something to celebrate the life of your furry friend.

Sarah Shelton, PsyD, MPH, MSCP

Licensed Clinical Psychologist – Kentucky Board of Directors, National Register of Health Service Psychologists President-Elect, Kentucky Psychological Association

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On Top of Everything Else, My Dog Died

Mourning a pet when so many humans are dying might feel unseemly, but loss is loss, and it’s okay to feel it.

Our dog died on tax day. Or, rather, he died on what would have been tax day, had we not been living through a pandemic. With all due respect to Ben Franklin, in this world––where the tax deadline has been pushed back until July, and we’re all under siege from an invisible enemy––nothing can be said to be certain, except death.

Five days earlier, I had stood outside the Williamsburg Veterinary Clinic, discussing the details of Lucas’s euthanasia with the vet over the phone. Humans and their novel viruses are not allowed into the vet’s office these days. So in an ironic twist of fate, during the final days of my dog’s life, he got to hang out inside a building while I shivered on the sidewalk.

“Can I at least come in and hold him when you put him down?” I asked.

“No,” said the vet. I had no idea which vet. She was just a voice on the phone. They couldn’t risk infecting their staff, she told me, and offered to let me watch it over videochat. “When you make an appointment, just let the receptionist know you want a Zoom link too.”

A Zoom link? For my dog’s death? “I’m not sure I want that.”

What about his ashes? she asked me. Did I want those? If I did, they would cost $100 more. I live in an apartment in Brooklyn, New York. It’s not as if I can bury Lucas in my backyard. I don’t have a backyard. And I don’t know what the rules are about sprinkling ashes in the East River or under a public-park tree. I say no to the ashes.

Lucas had been in decline for more than a year, losing his sight, his teeth, his will, his energy. The vet and I had spoken in person in late December, when health authorities in China were still trying to figure out why so many of its citizens were coming down with fatal pneumonia. I told her he’d become incontinent, waking up in puddles of his own urine. What’s more, things had recently taken a turn for the worse: My normally sweet dog had started growling and chomping down on our hands, hard enough to break skin, whenever my partner or I would try to take him out for a walk. A walk! Dogs love walks. Lucas loved walks for nearly 13 years until he didn’t.

We knew his time was limited, but I didn’t want him to die until my 23-year-old daughter, the unrelenting engine behind getting a family dog in the first place, could make it home. But she was sheltering in place with her boyfriend’s family in Illinois, after being evacuated from the Peace Corps. “Mom, it’s okay,” she told me over the phone. “I’d rather he not suffer.” If none of us could hold him while he was dying anyway, what was the point in waiting?

She was 10 when we brought his tiny puppy energy into our lives. Lucas was her first dog, and mine too. All of this was new to me—the training, the chewed sneakers, the unadulterated canine love, which sometimes feels like empathy. My father was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer a few months after we brought Lucas home, and he died four months later. When I’d cry about this, Lucas would lick my tears.

I made an appointment to put Lucas down. I know that’s the proper way to say it––to “put down” a dog––but I couldn’t help feeling as if I were calling a hit man to plot a murder. On the day before his death, I let him sniff around Transmitter Park without a leash, and then I fed him cheddar cheese for lunch and beef stroganoff for dinner, straight from my plate. We’d trained him so well not to beg for scraps, plus people food always gave him diarrhea, but what did it matter now?

My youngest, 13, came with me to take Lucas to his final vet appointment. Life with Lucas is all he’s ever known. We sat on the concrete floor in the vestibule between the sidewalk and the vet’s office. I called the receptionist. “We’re here to put down our dog,” I said, and I immediately broke into quiet sobs.

Read: Dear Therapist's guide to staying sane during a pandemic

The young couple waiting six feet away for their dog to be returned after his checkup quietly slipped out, onto the sidewalk, to give us some privacy. We held Lucas in our laps on the floor and told him how much we loved him. Pull yourself together , I chided myself. More than 10,000 humans had died of COVID-19 in New York City alone, and untold more had been infected, including my family and me . Weeping over a dog felt unseemly.

Except loss is loss. It takes many forms. The loss of normalcy and schedules. The loss of hugs and dinner parties, maskless smiles and busy sidewalks. The loss of sitting with strangers in a pizza joint, enjoying a slice. The loss of salaries. The loss of health care. The loss of sleep. The loss of weddings and funerals, bar mitzvahs and christenings, graduations and family vacations. My son and I, at that very moment, were supposed to have been on a mother-son trip in London for his spring break, visiting Harry Potter World. I’d scrimped and saved, with the fruits of four jobs, to buy those plane tickets, and now both my money and my special time with my son were lost.

Even before putting down our dog, I had cried, during the course of these past five and a half weeks, over losses great and small. I cried over the death of a friend and over the deaths of so many parents of friends that I’ve lost count. I cried one night at 2 a.m., when all three of us in my household were sick with COVID-19, and I couldn’t breathe, and I wasn’t sure I’d make it until morning. I’ve cried watching Governor Andrew Cuomo’s briefings. I’ve cried reading the news. I cried over my daughter’s evacuation from East Cameroon, a year and a half before the end of her service, just as she had cried when she told me she was being forced to leave her tiny village, her health-care projects, and the friends she’d made. “They won’t survive the coronavirus, Mom. They just won’t.” The three beds in her village’s health clinic had no sheets, let alone masks or respirators.

I’ve cried over the disappearance of my eldest son’s job. I’ve cried over missing my younger son’s upcoming graduation from eighth grade. I’d once mocked New York City public schools for holding eighth-grade graduations––come on, seriously?––but now I could really go for the simple pleasure of a communal ritual. I’ve cried over my ex-husband having to ride out his quarantine alone , without his son. I’ve cried over my new partner being separated from his son. I’ve cried over missing my friends and seeing the streets of New York emptied and the residual, ongoing damage to my lungs from COVID-19.

Read: My whole household has COVID-19

And now I was crying over a dog too. Our dog who, as a puppy, had licked my tears as my father lay dying and, in so doing, made me laugh.

“You ready?” The receptionist stepped into the vestibule wearing gloves, goggles, a protective robe, and a mask.

“I guess,” I said, hugging Lucas one last time and letting him go with a primal wail. My son hunched over his knees, weeping into his arms. At that exact moment, the young couple waiting for their dog walked back in and, with perfect comic timing, quickly turned on their heels to walk back out when they heard our sobs.

“He won’t be needing his leash anymore,” the receptionist said.

“Oh, right.” I took off his leash.

“Or his collar.”

I removed his collar. Seeing his name on the little silver name tag made me cry anew. My daughter had named him Lucas, much to my consternation. Before her father, I’d loved a French photographer named Luc, and I didn’t want the daily reminder. But soon enough after bringing the puppy into our home, Lucas the dog had nothing to do with Luc the photographer. I was able to compartmentalize my grief over the loss of Luc’s love and keep it separate from my burgeoning love for our dog.

Read: How are parents supposed to deal with joint custody right now?

Soon enough, I knew, as my son and I walked back home in the cold April wind, clutching the empty collar and leash and each other for comfort, I would be able to compartmentalize the loss of Lucas as well. To forgive myself for not holding him as he took his last breath. To absolve myself of the guilt I felt for mourning the loss of a dog during a human pandemic.

To be alive means to lose: love, time, others, opportunities, then finally ourselves. The minute we’re born, we have one foot in the grave. Each of us knows this as we putter through life, searching for food, shelter, and meaning before the great cliff drop. And yet still we march on into the wind, tears streaming down our cheeks, clutching mementos of those we loved, however large, small, or furry.

What to Do if Your Pet Dies at Home

L osing a pet is never easy. When facing the sudden loss of a furry companion, pet owners might not know what to do if their pet dies at home. 

While it may be unclear what best to do when experiencing such an ordeal, experts stress that it is important to take a second and grieve the loss.

“Acknowledge your feelings about that loss,” says Dr. Jennie Rubenstein, veterinarian and  member of the New York State Veterinary Medical Society. “Nothing that needs to be done [is urgent].”

Here’s what to know about losing a pet unexpectedly at home. 

What signs to look out for in a pet’s last moments

Many pet owners might be unfamiliar with the processes that might occur when an animal dies. “Death has some stages to it,” notes Rubenstein. “As a pet is dying, it can be terrifying to watch, because we're not used to seeing the signs of death.”

A pet may begin to show ragged or erratic breathing and some animals might begin to vocalize, but it is important to remain calm. “The best thing is to just sit and be with the pet and not to panic,” says Rubenstein. 

There are several indications that might show if an animal has passed. Rest your head on your pet’s chest to check their heartbeat or look for signs that their pupil has dilated. The most obvious sign is a stiff body and cold feet. After an animal passes, it might leak fluid from the nose or mouth, or excrete urine or stool. 

When you begin to see changes develop, call your veterinarian or an emergency pet hospital to help you confirm if the animal has passed. “Always consider calling the veterinarian, that might be where you'd be taking the body anyway,” says Rubenstein, adding that they can help you locate pet cemeteries and cremation services. 

Take Momentos 

Some pet owners may want to take momentos of their pet to use in a memorial. Rubenstein suggests taking a hair clipping for a shadow box, or using ink or paint to make an impression of your pet’s nose or paws. Other items, like a collar or favorite toy, might be important to set aside for later. 

Ready the Animal for Burial 

Lay the body on a plastic sheet or garbage bag and cover it with a blanket or towel. Place the body in the coolest part of your home, and surround it with ice packs. Rubenstein recommends laying the body in a position for burial. Your vet, or an emergency pet clinic, can help you figure out options for where to lay your pet to rest—whether it’s a pet cemetery or cremation service.

When it comes to larger animals—like horses, goats, or pigs—check in with your local municipality. They might have specific regulations in place for how to dispose of the body. 

Grieve Your Loss

If you have children in the household, take the time to explain what has happened in an age appropriate manner—using resources like picture books can help them process their emotions.  

Consider attending a support group and surrounding yourself with people who will meet your loss with empathy. 

Most importantly, allow yourself to feel your emotions. “It's okay to really acknowledge the depths to which pets have a huge impact on our lives,” says Rubenstein. “They don't live as long as humans and they carry us through certain chapters—sometimes very difficult chapters of our lives. So we're coping not just with the loss of the pet, we're also losing a period of time that they may have sailed through life with us.”

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My dog died today.

Lawyer for megachurch pastor blamed 12-year-old for initiating ‘inappropriate’ sexual conduct

In 1982, pastor Robert Morris was a 21-year-old husband and father who traveled the country telling young people about Jesus.

Cindy Clemishire was a 12-year-old girl who dressed in flowery pink pajamas and still liked to play with Barbie dolls.

On Christmas that year, Morris — who would go on to found Gateway Church in Southlake, Texas, and become a leading figure in the American evangelical movement — began what he would later describe as “inappropriate sexual behavior” with Clemishire while he was staying at her parents’ home in Oklahoma. Clemishire said Morris told her to come see him in his room before bed, and she was the type of girl who listened to instructions from trusted adults.

But 25 years later, when Clemishire hired an attorney and threatened to sue Morris, accusing him of repeatedly molesting her as a child, a lawyer representing Morris responded by blaming Clemishire for what happened to her, according to 2007 correspondence obtained by NBC News.

“It was your client,” wrote lawyer J. Shelby Sharpe, referring to Clemishire at age 12, “who initiated inappropriate behavior by coming into my client’s bedroom and getting in bed with him, which my client should not have allowed to happen.”

The Feb. 6, 2007, letter was one in a series of exchanges that year between Sharpe and Gentner Drummond, a lawyer who represented Clemishire at the time. Clemishire said in an interview last week she had been seeking $50,000 in restitution from Morris to cover the cost of counseling. Morris, through his lawyer, instead offered to pay $25,000, but the talks fell apart, Clemishire said, because she was not willing to sign a nondisclosure agreement.

Drummond, who is now Oklahoma’s attorney general, confirmed Clemishire’s description of the 2007 negotiations and declined to comment further. 

Reached by phone Monday, Sharpe said that he had no recollection of the $25,000 settlement offer or NDA demand and that he no longer represents Morris. He denied knowing at the time that Clemishire had been a child when Morris began engaging in sexual behavior with her. However, the initial correspondence Drummond sent to him stated clearly that Clemishire was “twelve years old” when the abuse began.

“I don’t ever remember seeing that,” Sharpe said after a reporter read the document to him. After a reporter offered to share a copy of the messages, Sharpe said he did not have time to read them and declined to share an email address.

“I can tell you that the letters that you’ve seen, they speak for themselves,” said Sharpe, who has also served as a personal attorney to Paige Patterson , a Southern Baptist Convention leader accused of mishandling or concealing sexual assaults that date back to the late 1980s. “I will not amplify beyond those letters, because they speak for themselves.”

Morris did not respond to messages.

Clemishire went public with her accusations last month in a post published by the church watchdog site The Wartburg Watch . Morris responded with a statement admitting to “inappropriate sexual behavior” and saying he had long ago confessed and repented. Gateway Church leaders initially said Morris had been “open and forthright about a moral failure he had over 35 years ago” but later said they did not know Clemishire was a child at the time.

Within days, Morris resigned as senior pastor of the megachurch he started in 2000, and Gateway elders hired an outside law firm to investigate the matter.

Lawrence Swicegood, a Gateway spokesperson, said church leaders had not seen the 2007 letters between Drummond and Sharpe. Swicegood said that before Clemishire went public with her story last month, “the current Elders did not have all the facts.”

Gateway sex abuse scandal

• Pastor Robert Morris confesses to "inappropriate sexual behavior" after Cindy Clemishire accuses him of molesting her as a child in the 1980s.
• Morris resigns as senior pastor of Gateway Church.
• In secret recording , a Gateway elder says accepting Morris' resignation was "one of the most difficult decisions in my life.”
• Emails reveal Clemishire's attempts to seek restitution from Morris in 2005.
• Morris asked his accuser how much her silence would cost , a phone transcript shows.

While the internal review is underway, four Gateway officials have agreed to take leaves of absence from the board of elders, the church announced last month . One is pastor James Morris, Robert Morris’ son. The three others served on the board of elders during the critical period from 2005 to 2007 when Clemishire was seeking damages.

“Gateway Church is committed to protecting people — first and foremost children and the most vulnerable,” Swicegood said in an email. “Abuse simply cannot be tolerated.”

Clemishire, now 54, sees the 2007 letter from Sharpe as part of a pattern of Morris and his associates’ attempting to make her feel guilt and shame for what he did to her.

“They don’t look at a child as someone to protect,” Clemishire said.

Clemishire said she struggled for years with “profound confusion” over what Morris did, believing for nearly two decades that she was to blame. She said Morris molested her more than 100 times over 4½ years. After the first encounter on Christmas in 1982, Clemishire said, “it just progressed to a lot of kissing and touching and inserting fingers into my body.” She said Morris pressured her to have intercourse, but she refused. Morris has acknowledged “kissing and petting” and argued that the number of incidents was a fraction of what Clemishire alleges.

Clemishire said that in the mid-2000s, after years of counseling and after having watched a television interview about grooming and sex abuse, she realized what happened to her was a crime.

She began writing to Morris at his Gateway Church email address in 2005, asking that he compensate her for the trauma she says he inflicted. In 2007, she hired Drummond to make a formal demand, according to documents provided to NBC News by Boz Tchividjian, the lawyer she hired last month. 

On Jan. 30, 2007, Drummond wrote to Sharpe on behalf of Clemishire, using her legal name at the time, Cindy Clemishire McCaleb. Drummond detailed the sexual abuse Clemishire says she suffered from 1982 to 1987 and how Morris “led her to believe that they were having a special relationship that had to remain secret.”

“Morris convinced Ms. McCaleb that she was responsible for what he did to her,” Drummond wrote, “and he convinced her that she was the offender.”

Drummond attached a draft of a lawsuit he said Clemishire planned to file if Morris failed to respond within 15 days.

"Reverend Morris began sexually assaulting Ms. McCaleb, who was then twelve years old." Gentner Drummond, Jan. 30, 2007

Sharpe responded a week later, on Feb. 6, 2007, with his letter casting Clemishire as the one who initiated sexual contact with Morris.

"It was your client who initiated inappropriate behavior by coming into my client's bedroom and getting in bed with him, which my client should not have allowed to happen." J. Shelby Sharpe, Feb. 6, 2007

Sharpe also claimed in the letter that Clemishire “acted inappropriately with two other men who stayed in her home between 1982 and 1987,” when she was between the ages of 12 and 17. And Sharpe wrote that Clemishire had “confessed her conduct” to Glenda Faulkner, a woman who attended Shady Grove Church near Fort Worth, Texas, in the 1980s, when Morris was a pastor there. 

Faulkner, now Glenda Faulkner-Woodliff — a licensed counselor who later attended Gateway — did not respond to messages requesting comment.

In an interview, Clemishire disputed Sharpe’s characterizations. She said two other men touched her inappropriately at her home when she was a child, but she said she did not initiate those interactions. In one instance, Clemishire said, it was Morris who instructed her, when she was 13, to go into a bedroom at her childhood home where another traveling evangelist was staying. Once she was inside, she said, the man, whom she declined to name, began to kiss her but eventually pulled away and told her she was too young.

In another instance, in 1986, Clemishire said, another man who was staying with her family climbed on top of her while she was sleeping on a sofa bed next to his 3-year-old daughter. She believed he planned to rape her, but she said the man suddenly got off of her.

“I really think God intervened,” Clemishire said. “God made him feel like someone was walking by, and he just rolled off of me and left.”

It was that incident, Clemishire said, that eventually led her to confide in Faulkner-Woodliff, also a family friend. Faulkner-Woodliff asked whether anyone else had ever touched her that way, Clemishire said. Clemishire then reluctantly explained what Morris had done to her, she said. Afterward, Clemishire said, Faulkner-Woodliff insisted that she tell her parents.

That’s how, in March 1987, her father learned that Morris had been sexually abusing her, Clemishire said. She said her father was enraged and contacted Olen Griffing, the senior pastor at Shady Grove Church, to demand that Morris step out of ministry.

Clemishire remembers getting a call from Morris’ wife, Debbie, a few days later. 

Debbie told her, “I forgive you,” she said.

“I’ll never forget that,” Clemishire said. “They wanted me to believe that I — me, the child — was responsible for what happened. And they’ve never stopped trying to make me believe that.”

Griffing, now in his 80s, later served as a pastor and elder under Morris at Gateway Church. He did not respond to messages.

Clemishire’s older sister was living with her family in 1987 and corroborated Clemishire’s account of conversations that took place that year among her sister, her parents, Faulkner-Woodliff, Griffing and the Morris family.

In the years since then, Morris has repeatedly told a sanitized and, at times, distorted version of the story. He has spoken often from the pulpit of struggling with sexual immorality and having to step out of ministry in 1987. But in public tellings, he says sinful pride was the reason, omitting mention of his years of sexual contact with a child.

In a sermon at Gateway on June 10, 2017 , in a message titled “The Principle of Honesty,” Morris described going through a “restoration process” about seven years into his marriage — which would have been in 1987. Morris said God told him he needed to confess “everything that I’ve ever done” to two people: Griffing, the former Shady Grove senior pastor, and his wife, Debbie.

He said he told Debbie, “I need to tell you who you really married.”

The confession took several hours, Morris said in the 2017 sermon, but he did not mention specific sins from the pulpit.

“I’ll never forget what she said,” Morris said, setting up a line that drew laughter from the Gateway congregation. “She said, ‘Robert, I knew you were bad when I married you. I didn’t know you were that bad.’”

When he told that story again on Aug. 28, 2022 , in a sermon titled “Passing the Purity Test,” Morris presented his openness about his past failings as something congregants should emulate.

In that sermon, he recounted the Old Testament story of King David’s son Amnon, who is said to have raped his half-sister Tamar when she was a teenager. After he raped her, the Scripture says, Amnon’s love for Tamar turned to intense hatred, Morris said.

Morris presented the passage as a cautionary tale for “young ladies” in his congregation — a warning about what can happen when girls allow men to have sex with them before marriage.

“When love turns to lust and lust is fulfilled, then love can turn to hate, and here’s why,” Morris said. “One of the reasons, young ladies, that he loves you is he respects you. The very thing that the world tells you to give him so you can keep him could be the very thing that causes you to lose him.”

Because, he said, “you can’t love someone you don’t respect.”

As she has watched Morris grow in power, prominence and wealth over the years, Clemishire said, she has always believed none of it would have been possible had he not hidden the truth of what he did to her.

On Feb. 16, 2007, Sharpe, Morris’ lawyer, sent a follow-up letter to Drummond indicating a desire to keep her allegations out of court. He proposed settling the matter through “Christian arbitration consistent with 1 Corinthians 6:1-8,” referring to a Bible passage evangelicals often cite to argue it is immoral to sue other Christians.

Sharpe said he had one goal with the suggestion: “I was at the time trying to reach a good resolution for everybody.”

But Clemishire, who did not agree to the arbitration, believes the true goal had been to keep her quiet and protect Morris from the types of repercussions he has faced since she went public last month.

“I don’t think there was any true repentance or sorrow for what happened,” Clemishire said.

Otherwise, she said, “that would not have been the response.”

Mike Hixenbaugh is a senior investigative reporter for NBC News, based in Maryland, and author of "They Came for the Schools."

Antonia Hylton is a correspondent for NBC News.

Calgary woman charged after dog dies in hot car

Kaitlyn rose folkins, 30, facing charges after pet allegedly left for 2 hours.

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A Calgary woman is facing charges after police say a dog was left in a hot car for more than two hours on Canada Day.

Calgary police responded to a home on Mount Copper Green S.E., in the community of McKenzie Lake, at around 5 p.m. that Monday, after reports of a dog in distress.

"Upon arrival, an officer located the vehicle and observed a dog lying unresponsive on the floor," police said in a release Thursday.

• 56 dogs and 9 llamas among dozens of animals seized in investigation north of Calgary
• Emu named Keith finds forever home after southern Alberta highway stroll

"Witnesses informed the officer that they had observed the dog panting so heavily that the car was shaking, and the dog eventually stopped responding to knocks on the window.

"The windows of the vehicle were up and the doors were locked. The officer entered the vehicle by breaking a window in an attempt to rescue the dog, who was later identified as a female four-year-old Alaskan malamute, German shepherd crossbreed named Lucky. She was located deceased inside of the car."

Kaitlyn Rose Folkins, 30, is facing charges of injuring an animal and causing distress to an animal.

• Calgary father who killed 2 dogs in violent attacks gets 3 years in jail
• This cat's story illustrates why Calgary's humane society and police work closely together

"Lucky's death was an avoidable tragedy," acting Insp. Scott Neilson with Calgary Police Service said in the release.

"And I'm asking Calgarians to think of her the next time they consider leaving an animal inside of a car on a warm or hot day, even for a short period."

The Calgary Humane Society says just leave your dog at home.

"What are you willing to lose? A windshield? A pet? Money to pay a fine? Your freedom due to incarceration?" asked the society's Brad Nichols.

"It's all at risk if you decide to leave an animal in a car in the temperatures we are currently experiencing. We shouldn't be fielding hundreds of these types of calls every summer. For the animal's sake, if you see something, say something. You may be the only one advocating for that suffering animal."

Neighbourhood residents expressed sadness to CBC News about the dog's death.

"It's tragic no matter which way you look at it," Jeff Smith said.

Chris Smith — unrelated to Jeff — was baffled.

"A dog dying in the car is pretty out of the ordinary for this neighbourhood," he said.

Police say call 911 if you see an animal in distress.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

David Bell has been a professional, platform-agnostic journalist since he was the first graduate of Mount Royal University’s bachelor of communications in journalism program in 2009. His work regularly receives national exposure. He also teaches journalism and communication at Mount Royal University.

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Woman Critical, Dog Dies After Being Struck by Vehicle in Grand Blanc

A tragic incident occurred Monday afternoon in Grand Blanc when a 64-year-old woman was hit by a car while crossing the road with her dog. The pedestrian crash near the intersection of Grand Blanc Road and Davis Street resulted in the woman suffering major head injuries and her dog's death. According to ABC12 , the woman was transported to Hurley Medical Center and remains in critical condition.

Witnesses reported she was unconscious and bleeding from the head at the scene. The 72-year-old male driver, a resident of Grand Blanc, stayed to render aid and has been cooperative with the subsequent police investigation. As per WNEM , drugs or alcohol are not considered to be a factor in the collision.

The roadway was closed as the Crash Investigation and Reconstruction Team (CIRT) conducted their evidence collection.  Details surrounding the incident and the findings from the investigation will be sent to the Genesee County Prosecutor's Office to determine if charges will be sought against the driver. In a statement obtained by mlive , the Grand Blanc Police Department has indicated that this step is standard practice in such cases. 

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11 National Hot Dog Day deals that are frankly delicious

No one seems to love hot dogs quite as much as Joey Chestnut , but the summertime staple certainly has quite a loyal following.

Traditionally celebrated on the third Wednesday in July, National Hot Dog Day is taking over many restaurants on July 17 this year.

Some restaurants are even spacing out the deals and celebrating later in the week, so there are plenty of ways to mark the food holiday. Below, we’ve outlined some of the deals you’ll want to chase down.

On July 17, participating Dog Haus locations will give rewards members a free Haus Dog when they order in store (no purchase necessary). To find the offer, log in to the app and present the offer to the cashier while ordering.

Convenience store chain EG America has a week of deals to celebrate National Hot Dog Day. The deals are available at the following locations: Cumberland Farms, Turkey Hill, Quik Stop, Certified Oil, Fastrac, Tom Thumb, Minit Mart, Kwik Shop, Loaf ‘N Jug and Sprint.

• Tuesday, July 16: Buy one, get one free hot dog
• Wednesday, July 17: $2 for two hot dogs
• Thursday, July 18: Buy one, get one free hot dog
• Friday, July 19: Free large fountain drink (excludes HyperFreeze, Frozen Cold Brew, Frazil and all other sizes) with the purchase of two hot dogs
• Saturday, July 20 and Sunday, July 21: Get a free hot dog with the purchase of two hot dogs

GPM Investments

Convenience store chain GPM Investments is offering rewards members a free Nathan’s hot dog when they buy any fountain drink on July 17.

Hot Dog on a Stick

On July 19,  Hot Dog on a Stick  is breaking out a secret menu item called The Charlie — a traditional beef or turkey hot dog that’s housed inside the chain’s Cheese on a Stick and served flat like a traditional hot dog.

In addition, the brand is offering customers a free Milk-Bone x Hot Dog on a Stick Bandana and a free bag of Milk-Bone Minis for their dogs when they spend $20. The offer is valid through Aug. 11.

Hedley & Bennett 

Culinary lifestyle brand Hedley & Bennett has everything you need to host a fun hot dog night, and the brand is offering customers 20% off sitewide between July 19—21 using the code HOTDOG20.

Select Instacart retailers are offering customers $10 off $20 of eligible items, including hot dogs, buns, condiments, drinks and more.

Love’s Travel Stops is offering customers a free hot dog or roller grill item on July 17 at participating locations. The offer is available in the Love’s app.

Omaha Steaks

In honor of National Hot Dog Day, Omaha Steaks is giving customers 50% off on the following items when they purchase any other item:

• Gourmet Jumbo Franks  (discounted price $9.99)
• Skinless Beef Franks  (discounted price $7.99)
• Gourmet Franks in a Blanket  (discounted price $7.99)

Shake Shack

On July 19, Shake Shack customers can get a free hot dog when they spend $1 or more in-restaurant at a kiosk or in the chain’s app/website for delivery or pickup. Use the code FREEHOTDOG to score the deal.

True Story Foods

To celebrate National Hot Dog Day, True Story Foods customers can take advantage of a buy-one, get-one-free hot dog bundle offer. On July 17, online customers who buy a 6-pack bundle of the brand’s Organic Grass-Fed Uncured Hot Dogs ($49.99) will score another 6-pack for free. The offer is limited to one per customer.

Wienerschnitzel

Participating Wienerschnitzel locations nationwide will offer customers four Chili Dogs for $4 on July 17 in-store only.

Chrissy Callahan covers a range of topics for TODAY.com, including fashion, beauty, pop culture and food. In her free time, she enjoys traveling, watching bad reality TV and consuming copious amounts of cookie dough.

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