Many years ago, when I was still in a traditional mental health practice, I had a counseling client: male (I”ll call him Rich), mid-thirties, professional fireman, appearing quite fit and in the prime of his life when he arrived at my office.
Rich began by telling me all the difficulties he had been going through that brought him into therapy: he was very close with both his parents and his mom had a cancer diagnosis and was not doing well, his dad fell and hurt his back and was recovering slower than anticipated. His wife of 10 years caught him cheating on her so he ended the affair, only to find out later that he had gotten the other woman pregnant. One of his superior’s at work, who was also a mentor and trusted confidant retired suddenly and moved to Florida.
Rich delivered all of this news stoically, as if he was talking about someone else. But I sensed he was not quite finished as he took a deep breath to prepare himself for the next difficulty on his list. Through choked back sobs and tears streaming down his cheeks he told me that his 12-year-old golden Labrador Retriever died.
Curious about his delayed display of emotions, I asked Rich if that was the straw that broke the camel’s back or if losing his beloved pet was the thing that genuinely tore his heart in two. He said that he was embarrassed to admit that losing his dog (I’ll call him Fido) was the hardest hit of them all, and he truly wondered if there was something wrong with him, that he ached more deeply for the loss of his pet, compared to all of his other troubles.
Having two dogs of my own at the time, I decided that I believed him. So instead of suggesting that all the issues were compounding each other, or diving into conventional treatment and exploring complex family of origin dynamics, which could be deemed more important topics, we began his healing journey by discussing why the death of his dog seemed to leave the biggest void.
Rich reminisced about how his faithful furry companion was always there, even in the most private of times. While in the bathroom, having to carefully step over him to get out of the shower because Fido was laying on the bath mat. Allowing him to take up space in the bed and hog the covers. Going for a run together after a stressful day at work.
As we talked about how much time they had spent together and what he meant to him, never feeling judged and always accepted. Rich began to realize that Fido had sometimes felt like an extension of him, but an adoring, better version of him, following close behind as he walked through the house and worked in the yard. It started to make sense that he would miss his old life with Fido the most, he had, after all, spent a lot of quality time with his canine counterpart. They had daily routines and weekly rituals, unspoken agreements and unending loyalty. Fido made Rich feel loveable. The bond he had with his pet was like no other. Such an absence would, of course, create a huge vacancy and take time to heal.
This insight came as a relief as Rich started to understand that when compared to his emotional reactions towards all of his other circumstances, his more intense feelings of grief and loss for Fido were not a sign of deep-rooted emotional problems, but an indication of the love he felt for and from man’s best friend.
If you have ever suffered from the loss of a pet, remember what you gained from that relationship. Our animals teach us about trust, unconditional love and loyalty. Let that sink into your heart and inspire you to emulate those qualities.