Aging Pets, Aging Owners

Mere hours after posting my blog post, Permanent Goodbyes, last week, Milo, our 17-year-old ginger cat, had a seizure. His health had been declining for over a year, and we knew his time was limited. But it is still always a surprise, isn’t it? Just that morning, Milo had been taunting our 7-month-old puppy, Bella. Bella often got told to leave the cat alone, but Milo was frequently the instigator. That morning, Milo had been lying stretched out on the coffee table as Bella leapt around the table like a young fawn, all gangly legs. Milo swiped and growled at Bella, sliding his body around in a circle as he tried to connect with our puppy. Bella soon tired and curled up on the couch. Milo jumped onto the couch and got right in Bella’s face, giving a final few hisses before walking off. Not exactly the behaviour of a cat I would soon be driving to the vet to euthanize.

Certain situations only seem to arise on a Sunday when professionals are not working - and they are usually of the medical variety, whether human or animal. And for me, these situations also often happen when I am alone. My husband had headed to the mainland that morning. Our local vet is only open Monday to Friday. My only option - or so I thought, was a ferry ride to the emergency vet, with a possible hour or two wait in a crowded room with other owners and their sick or dying pets. Holding Milo in my arms, I called our vet. Yes, the message confirmed I would have to head off the island to the emergency vet. The message continued, saying that if this was an emergency involving a large farm animal, I could page my phone number to the vet. Thankfully, I continued to the end of the message. If this was a serious emergency, the tape continued, I could also page my number to the vet. I did. Two minutes later, she called back. Ten minutes later, she met me at the clinic. She knew Milo well; he had been visiting her monthly for a shot of Solensia to control the pain he experienced from severe arthritis. She was calm and supportive, giving me all the time I needed to say goodbye to Milo. Sometimes, I find it difficult living on our small island, but last Sunday, I was grateful for this small community.

Milo is the third pet we have had to say goodbye to in the last few years. Last fall, our 18-year-old cat, Boogs, left us. The year before,, we had to say goodbye to Tucker, our 12-year-old Bernese-Newfie cross. That was particularly difficult. Tucker was my constant companion. He was the animal love of my life. When she was younger, my daughter would say that if Tucker was a boy, she would marry him.

I am surprised I did not think to write about pets when I wrote my post, Permanent Goodbyes, last week. Saying goodbye to my pets has resulted in some of the most painful grief I have felt. 

In 2022, I wrote a blog post on the nine myths about grief. I shared how I had grieved more for Tucker than for my mother. How could the intensity of my grief for my dog outweigh that for my mother? Re-reading this blog post, I remembered that grief has nothing to do with the intensity of love. 

I did some research this week into grieving our pets. Comments in a Washington Post article by Colleen Grablick resonated for me. She cites Jennifer Golbeck, a computer science professor at the University of Maryland and researcher of human-animal bonds. Golbeck says that the relationships we form with our animals are “purely good.” Our close relationships with other people, even the most loving, can be difficult. We misunderstand each other, we hurt each other, we give and take. With pets, there is a simplicity to what they provide us — and what we give them — that can’t be replicated with humans. They become deeply entwined in our lives. This can make losing their companionship all the more complex. Our grief can also be amplified because of guilt. You may wonder whether you should have euthanized your pet sooner, a thought I had with all three of these pets. And you may feel guilt like I did, grieving an animal more than a person.

Losing three elderly pets has also made me more aware of my age and future. I think of the extra work needed to tend to elderly pets and how I may be an imposition on my family one day. Milo, in particular, has cost us a great deal in vet bills these past two years. I expect our healthcare costs will likely increase in the coming years. Taking care of aging pets has challenged me, both physically and mentally. I wonder how my husband and I will cope as we get older? And, while we can make the decision to end a pet’s suffering, I think about whether I will suffer in my later years.

I know I am not alone in feeling deep grief over the loss of my pets. I have seen it with friends and family. When I shared my news about Milo on social media, many of you sent your support and condolences and shared similar experiences. Aren’t we lucky to have had these pets in our lives?