Advice to a Friend on the Dying of a Dog
The amount of pain you feel in losing your dog is equal to the love you put into that sweet thing.
Holidays don't always get to define the sentiment. But life events do. It’s hard to say which is worse, losing a dog on the last day of the year or on the first day of the next one. But I suppose “What’s worse” can arrive on any day of the year. So, I am honored to offer these words. - Mark
I don’t know what makes us think that we can bask in the glow of a dog’s adoration without straining in the cold shadow of its passing. But we all do.
The basking and the straining are twins. Arguably one is an angel, and the other is the devil. And you can’t have one without the other. The greatest burden turned blessing is in understanding that the amount of pain you feel in losing your dog is equal to the love you put into that sweet thing.
And like the passing of all friends and most family members, the initial days are filled with feelings of guilt and the impact of the if I had onlys and the if I just wouldn’t haves. And eventually, when the answers predictably fail to land, the I knew betters arrive in their place.
And thank God they do. Because there is no true solace in being unburdened. No lasting peace in painlessness. And no redemptive quality in forgetting too easily.
Can you imagine losing your dog and shaking it off like they did the mud from a puddle? How sad would that be? So, allow the guilt to take hold. There is no stopping the chaotic progression of grief. And expending any energy fighting is the definition of throwing good after bad. When we most need it to be, guilt is there to stand in the stead of utter despair. It is there to allow us to pretend that we can control what we cannot. It is there to fix in our minds what we cannot fix in real life. Guilt punishes our present by attempting to assuage our past and alter our future. But that feeling is only temporary. It is excruciating, but it plays a vital role in letting go. Letting go so that we might hold on again.
On that first day, though, and in the untold days after, the details of leaving a gate unlatched or a door cracked will haunt you like a ghost could only hope to.
Midnight will clang, and wood floors will creak with the one time you thought you were allowing your dog a moment of much-needed freedom off-leash. For now, you are sure your ignorance, carelessness, and haste are haunting you. But that is not how or why a haunting happens. What makes you walk aimlessly about the house, daydream through a meeting at work, and whistle out the back door every night when you know better? What makes you turn toward the patter of paws no longer there or leave food bowls filled for no sane reason? Ghosts don’t make you do that. But love does. Love is also why we turn hundreds of only-cute-to-us pictures into throws and tapestries. Love drives us crazy with every bark echoing from a neighbor’s backyard, a stepped-on bone first thing in the morning, and the lost stare at a stained couch cushion. Love even plagues us with the terribleness of bitter ends, seen and unseen. But eventually, that same love returns us to a state of remembering joy without pain. The burden of losing a creature that your happiness feels so indebted to surrenders to the blessing of your heart in knowing that you gave as good as you got.
For now, train your soul to measure love in deep guttural aches, acidic longing, and tears that every good person you know will understand. Because they’ve been there.
Recognize momentary pain as lasting love because someday, sooner than it feels today, you will allow that love to exist in pats on a furry head. Love will announce as an annoyance when you lose your comfortable spot on the bed. And love will sing to the rafters through the inane, baby-like conversations that only a dog dares hear as high-toned literature. Because when the time is right, and no one but you gets to say it is or isn’t, you will get another dog. That’s just what dog lovers do. It will not be a replacement, a stand-in, or an exculpatory dog, but one that desperately needs you.
You are good at being needed and doling out love as if life never ends.
Not because of what you learned by losing but from what you learned by losing and then letting yourself give so freely again. Your dog, yesterday’s and tomorrow’s, is the only being better than you at loving terribly spoiled and unquestionably domestic strays. But take heart. You’re catching up fast.
I would love to hear what you thought about this essay and if it brought any personal memories or stories to mind. Please feel free to leave a comment. I’ll answer all of them. I would love to strike up a conversation about this piece and your thoughts. Please consider sharing this newsletter with a friend.
Thank you. - Mark
“Old Dogs” Mark Elliott/Tony Ramey
I don’t think the day of the year matters, whether it’s the first day, last day or any of the 365 we need to say goodbye. We love our pups and would do anything for them. Sending them over the Rainbow Bridge is a difficult task, sometimes at our choice and sometimes at their choice. But any day is rough and tough to deal with. Yes, we get past the pain but we always miss them. And yes, we get new pups without thinking of their final day but that’s because we love them.
Old dog is such a beautiful song and I like your voice very much. I’ve always loved Larry & Robins dogs. Always so deeply loved and cared for, don’t know if they knew how lucky they were to have them, but they all deserved each other. I’m sure Larry is walking with Delaney again and that Nokki is greeting him happily. Thank you for your story.