I lost my best friend a couple of weeks ago. She was 93 years old - or 15 in dog years, since, after all, she was a dog.
Dallas came into our lives on a sunny spring day in 1997. She was a furry yellow mass of unknown ancestry with feet that were too big, legs that were too long and teeth that were too sharp.
She wasn't perfect - far from it. As a puppy, she treated leashes like beef jerky, ate earrings, chewed up a cellphone (quite a feat since it was the big '90s kind), relieved herself on our bed and once, as a young adult, chased a terrified jogger through a campsite, among other undesirable activities.
But she also taught us a little something about compassion, patience, trust and kindness. If she was cheeky as a puppy, she was simply spirited as a young adult, content in middle age and finally mellow in her senior years.
Her body changed, too. Fifteen years after we brought her home, the muscles that used to ripple and shine against her frame receded under a coat of thin, coarse, patchy hair.
And the dog that could make a 35-kilometre trail run look easy would lumber heavily to her bed after even the shortest walk, arthritis taking its cruel toll.
She was thin and wouldn't eat; she wanted only to sleep, and I hoped she was playing with old friends or running in the surf when I saw her legs kick harder in her dreams than they ever did when she was awake.
We knew it was time. And as difficult as it was to put down a beloved friend, it was also a blessing that we could relieve her of her pain. An animal taken by accident or illness is not afforded the same mercy.
And still it's agonizing. According to one U.S. study, pet guardians rank the death of a companion animal among the most significant losses in their lives, and many mourn the loss of a pet as much as the loss of a human loved one. The same study reported that one-third of guardians have difficulties with personal relationships following the death of a pet and have to take time off work to cope with their loss.
The point is, grief over the loss of a companion animal is real, and it's important to allow yourself to experience it because it's the only way to move forward. This will be a challenge if you're surrounded by people that don't understand or accept your loss, but I've found that true friends always understand and everyone else doesn't really matter.
For me, I held it together for a couple of days after Dallas passed away. Then, while walking our other dog on a path that I'd previously walked them both together, I surprised myself and lost it. The sun was setting, no one was around and some tragic Eddie Vedder song on my iPod conspired to get the waterworks going. So I sat on a rock with my head in my hands and let it all out.
Later, I felt better.
