Anticipatory Grief for Pets
Everything. Everything is an art. The way we move through our lives, nurture vulnerability in our relationships, how we make a moment special. How we act as guardians and stewards for what lives, including our pets. The tending, itself, an art form.
How special is it to decide to be the main source of care that another’s life depends on? How absolutely horrifying. During my first week of grad school, while laughing and crying and rolling on the ground, I decided that I wanted a dog. I admit, in that emotionally dysregulated moment, I was thinking more of what that dog would do for me, and I failed to realize just how much our relationship would be about what I could give. My partner and I chose a pug. A pug as our first dog! A pug, who needs her face fold cleaned out daily to clear out her buildup of yeast. One who needs a standing appointment for nail clippings because it’s a nightmare to try and do it at home due to her hatred of anyone touching her oh-so-delicate feet. A pug who no longer produces natural tears and has to be given them artificially twice a day.
We’re ten years in. Every day, I tell her I love her 1000 times—by my words, by slipping her little bits of cheese, by finding her favorite places to be scratched, by taking walks very slowly and letting her do more sniffing than walking because I know it stimulates her tiny brain. Sometimes I joke and talk about how she’ll live forever, but I do that because I’m acutely aware of the fact that she won’t and I think it’s for the better that I know how limited our time is.
The doubt can hang like a heavy cloud. Even when we’re keeping our pets alive, we can still pester ourselves with questions that our pets cannot answer in our language. Am I doing enough? Are you happy? Do you know how much I love you? Is it better that you ended up with me, or would someone else have given you a better life?
One way I try and mitigate that doubt is to make sure both my pets are generally having a good time. That they have cozy places to rest, designated just for them. That they have toys, and get a bit of stimulation each day. I cannot necessarily control exactly how long they’ll get to live, but I can do more than the bare minimum to meet their needs. I can give them stability and regularity. We share special rituals—they always know when it’s mealtime because it’s the same everyday. I try and pay attention to the ways in which they do communicate with me, like when the cat gives the green light for petting and shows me which side of his face he wants scratched (and when to stop). The pug is technically in her “senior” years, so I’ve started offering her more moments of pleasure, whether that’s an extra treat, snuggle time, or just talking to her for awhile.
Sometimes I think about what life will look like after she is gone. What I’ll want from that period of time, how it will feel and how on Earth I’m going to be able to deal with it. Whenever I think this way, my whole body surges with feeling. With love, devotion, adoration, respect. Then I give her a little pat and tell her that I love her (again). It can be all too easy to slip into the lull of expecting things to stay as they are, and taking what we love for granted because of it. Being in relationship is where the art exists.
To all the pet companions who stand beside us and to those who are no longer here.
Author’s Note: This piece was originally written in December 2022, dedicated to a pet companion who crossed the Rainbow Bridge August 2025.