After a Pet Dies – Dealing with Guilt and Filling the Void
Posted: Tuesday, October 24, 2006
by Danny Davids
Several months ago I wrote an article about our dog Cinder. The Malamute/Retriever mix changed my life; her death in August of 2005 affected me profoundly (and still does). But the story doesn’t end there. Let me continue….
By Labor Day 2005 we were moved (but definitely not settled) into our new location. My wife’s dog, RiCA, a white Shepherd/yellow Lab mix, was exploring the new house and yard, getting acclimated to the new surroundings. Even with all the excitement of a new home, there was something missing, and she knew it. She’d run from room to room, looking for her “big sister" and not finding her. It would break my heart when we’d ask her, “Where’s Cinder?" and she would race through the house and the back yard, trying to find the babysitter and playmate who wasn’t ever going to be there. The upside for her was that without Cinder to pay attention to, I was giving RiCA an awful lot of love. The downside for me was that RiCA accepts love on her own terms - from a distance. Any time I’d go to hug her or pull her close, like I would with Cinder, she would pull away after only a few seconds. My days of sitting on the floor with a dog lying on her back next to me begging for a belly rub, or hugging and petting her while she attempted to lick my face, were over. It really was the end of an era.
One of the things we were in agreement on was that any pet we got would be a rescue animal. I spent a lot of time on the Internet, looking up Malamute rescue sites in our area. The biggest drawback for me was the cost of adopting these animals. I was having a difficult time with the idea of paying upwards of $400 to adopt a dog. More often than not I’d spend only a few minutes looking at the pictures of the available animals before shutting down my browser amid tears of sorrow and frustration. I also checked out our local Humane Society and SPCA sites. While the selection of animals waiting to be adopted was much larger, there were no Malamutes available.
We were also in agreement that we would be looking for an adult female. There would be no puppies chewing up the house, messing up the carpets, and waking us throughout the night with crying, whining, and the unmistakable odor of yet another accident in the corner. We wanted a well-behaved, trainable adult dog that would integrate well into our family, and especially get along with RiCA. That was our final agreement, that we would not get a dog that didn’t get along well with her.
Friends of ours who knew of Cinder’s passing kept us posted as well. One family informed us they’d gotten their dog through a private rescue organization, and early in October 2005 we went to check it out, taking RiCA with us just in case the unthinkable happened and we found a dog. There was a female Lab puppy that caught my eye, but before we could even ask about her we learned she was being considered by another family (who did end up adopting her). Poor RiCA. She was a nervous wreck, cowering in the corner as the other dogs in the room barked and cried. Bad call on our part, and we resolved that in the future we’d let her meet any potential addition one-on-one.
By now I was stopping by the local SPCA about once a week, taking a lunch hour to walk the adoption halls and see who was new. At that time there were a lot of pets from Louisiana and the other areas that had been hit by hurricane Katrina, and I felt sorrow for the animals who’d lost their homes and families. But I distanced myself from each animal I looked at, finding some fault no matter how small. Too boisterous. Too quiet. Looks unhappy. Looks too happy. Barks too much. Sleepy to the point of being comatose. And not a Malamute in the bunch. I was beginning to think that maybe we’d have to pay a lot of money for the dog I wanted. I was also beginning to think that maybe it would be better leaving RiCA an “only child". She’d get all the attention she’d ever need, and I wouldn’t have to feel guilty about trying to replace the best dog I’d ever had.
On the last Saturday of October 2005, I woke up and out of the blue asked my wife, “Want to go to the SPCA with me?" Our two daughters wanted to go as well, so the five of us piled into the car (RiCA accompanied us) and off we went. I had seen a male puppy a few days before and wanted to see if he was still there.
When we arrived my wife stayed in the lobby with RiCA while my daughters and I went roaming. First I took my paperwork to the appropriate office so that we’d already have everything on file if and when the time came to adopt. Next I checked the puppy wing, and the little guy I’d seen was gone. I thought, “No biggie" and headed back to the front of the facility to leave. Then I stopped and thought, “Oh, what the heck, we’re already here. I should go take a look."
I turned and headed back to the adult dog wing, walking up and down the first two aisles with no problem. I turned to go up the third aisle and took two steps before freezing in my tracks. There in the cage in front of me was a Siberian Husky male with the biggest brown eyes staring straight at me. Even though he wasn’t a Malamute, everything about him screamed Cinder. My heart broke again, and I cried on my older daughter’s shoulder for a minute or two as the Husky looked at me as if to say, “Hey, what’s your problem?" I turned and walked to the end of the aisle, where I saw a second Husky, a female with blue eyes that were so clear they were unnerving. I fought down tears and finished walking the remaining aisles.
I went to tell my wife about the Huskies, and then asked the personnel about both animals. They were strays, found together roaming a neighborhood, and were determined to be about two years old. I asked if I could see the male. While he was calm enough, he seemed rather disinterested in people, preferring to roam the small yard where they took us. We then went with him to let him meet RiCA. It was a bad meeting all around. She cowered behind my wife’s legs and bared her teeth while he sniffed casually at her. I knew it wouldn’t work out, and he was taken back to his cage.
Almost as an afterthought, I asked to see the female. While very shy, she seemed to be a little more sociable with people. Again we went up to see how RiCA would react, and frankly I expected to see her respond the way she did with the male. Instead, she came out from behind my wife’s legs, tip of her tail wagging slowly, and the two sniffed each other as dogs usually do. RiCA even licked the female Husky’s muzzle, a totally unexpected reaction. I found this encouraging.
The staff member took the Husky and me to what they call the “meet and greet room", a small place where you can be alone with the animal and see if you bond at all. I made sure the floor was clean and sat down, letting the Husky roam slowly around the room without interference. She walked the perimeter, head down, and I would reach out to pet her each time as she walked by. On her fourth trip around the room, she came up to me and stopped, looking directly at me. Those blue eyes were so different from what I was used to seeing, but I reached over and petted her again. After about ten seconds she continued pacing the room. The next circuit she did the same thing, stopping and allowing me to pet her and talk quietly. And then it happened. She started to turn as if she was going to walk on, but instead sat down with her back to me and her backside pressed against my leg. I continued to pet her as a voice inside me said, “Cinder used to do this." Slowly she let her front paws slide forward on the concrete floor until she was lying down, still against my leg. The voice inside me cried out louder, “Cinder used to do this!" Finally, her whole body leaned to the right, and she laid on her side, her head resting on my leg. The tears started again and the voice shouted, “CINDER USED TO DO THIS!!" I sat there for a few minutes, petting her and crying, until the staff member came back and I said, “We’ll take her." When the three of us came out to the front lobby, I looked at my wife and saw her eyebrows go up with the unspoken question. I gave her a thumbs-up and nodded.
Of course, we didn’t take her that day, as she had to be spayed, but we filled out the paperwork and paid the fee ($65 was a bargain compared to what we’d seen other places charging). I was told to come back on Monday to pick her up. On Halloween 2005, Sasha joined our family.
The past year has been rather interesting as we have learned to deal with Sasha and she has learned to deal with us. Certainly there have been some adjustments that have had to be made on both sides. However, Sasha is discovering what family rules are, and we are discovering that Huskies are smart, mischievous, and very, very strong-willed.
Just as Cinder and RiCA had before her, Sasha has taught us some valuable lessons. Here are just a few of them:
In the future, I will always adopt a dog. There are too many abandoned and unwanted animals in the world for me to justify in my mind paying someone to bring even more of them into the world. The love we have received from Sasha isn’t any less than what we would have received from a new puppy. (Besides, if what our vet said is true, Sasha was still a puppy when we got her. She sure acted like it!)
Some puppies learn their lessons quickly, and some don’t. The same is true with adult dogs. Just because you acquire a dog that is fully grown doesn’t mean it knows everything. It still has to be taught. (That means we’re still working with Sasha.)
The people who say that you shouldn’t do anything to distress your dog when trying to teach it the house rules are living in la-la land. For awhile we couldn’t get Sasha to do anything. That is, until our younger daughter told my wife, “Hey, how did you handle us when we were growing up?" Sasha learned a lot faster after that conversation.
Cesar Millan (the “Dog Whisperer" on the National Geographic Channel) is a genius.
You can’t replace a dog. It just won’t happen. Even if you somehow manage to find a dog that looks like and acts like and thinks like your old dog, the new dog doesn’t fill the void. It’s like one dog builds a den, lives in it for a long time, and then leaves. Another dog comes along and realizes this den has been occupied and it can’t live there. So it builds a new den of its own to live in. Except the dens are in your heart.
Having an unfilled void can be a good thing. It helps you remember.
It’s okay to have more than one den in your heart, whether occupied or vacant.
Welcome to our home, Sasha. I hope this past year has been a good one for you. And I hope we have many, many more years of you in our lives.
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Top-level comments on this article: (5 total)Had me in tears all the way through it! Great article. I too g for rescue dogs.
Excellent article..I just lost my Big Golden on August 3 and reading this really helped. Thanks!Maris, later this month it'll be two years since we lost Cinder. Two years, and I still deal with my grief. I'm either the biggest wuss on the planet, or this is normal. I'm guessing the latter. My heart goes out to you and your family.
Thanks, Danny....I think we're both the biggest wusses on the planet! Maris
We lost our dog three weeks ago today. We have been considering getting a new dog, but I have had moments of guilt and wondered if it were too soon, and found your article with a google search. I loved the way you put this phrase..
"Another dog comes along and realizes this den has been occupied and it can’t live there. So it builds a new den of its own to live in. Except the dens are in your heart.Having an unfilled void can be a good thing. It helps you remember.It’s okay to have more than one den in your heart, whether occupied or vacant."I don't want to replace my dog, but I have so much love left to give. It's nice to think the new dog will just share the space in my heart. We're still looking. We haven't found just the right dog, but I will try to remember your advice as we adjust to a new family member.Thank you for sharing your story.Steph, you will not be replacing anyone. I am sorry for your loss, and know eventually you will find the right dog to make that new den in your heart. Let us know what happens.
Thank you for a beautiful, well written article. We just lost our 8 year old black shepherd yesterday to a suspected hemangio sarcoma. She was a rescue dog as well and was 4 years old when she came to live with us. I love the analogy of the den; it is so very true!
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