GRIEVING HIS LITTLE FRIEND

I have previously written about Queenie’s trip across the Rainbow Bridge, and my participation in her homegoing exercise. And as I inferred in that particular blog, our other dog, Toby, (along with us) has experienced some pretty raw emotions as a result.

I honestly didn’t expect our little black and white Papillon to exhibit any particular response when I brought Queenie home for the final time. Of course, I had some mixed feelings about showing the latter to the former. However, since I had several mementoes to put in her little cardboard container, I set it on the floor, and took the lid off the box. Even before I pulled the top off, Toby began sniffing around the perimeter. And during the minute and a half which elapsed, as I was laying Queenie’s beloved ball, a meal bone and a red rose in the box, Toby was “all eyes.”

I suppose I should not have been surprised that he would display such a visceral reaction to my beloved pooch’s passing. After all, the two of them had lived with our daughter for a year before Queenie was returned to our home, and Kristy had transferred Toby to our care a few months ago. And in spite of his status as what I describe as a ‘eunuch,’ Toby had ‘engaged’ Queenie numerous times, especially when our (at the time) fifteen year old dog went into heat. They did everything together.

They ate together. I would retrieve a pot of chicken and rice from the fridge 3x a day, make up a plate of the stuff for each dog, and set Queenie’s food on the left of their water bowl and Toby’s on the right.

They slept together. At least when they resorted to their floor pillows during the daytime. We often took pictures after they found their way to their makeshift doggie beds, and laid hardly a foot apart.

They ‘went’ together. If and when Queenie cooperated in that twice a day exercise, she would ‘go’ where Toby had previously ‘gone.’

Pt. 2

And while Queenie and Toby were, for the most part, somewhat oblivious of one another, (or at least it seemed that way to me) Kristy reminded me that they were nothing less than partners in life.

The past six days it has been apparent to me how much he loved her.

Toby immediately began doing things which were not ‘normal’ for him. He has always eaten his food on the right side of our floor to ceiling kitchen closet. If I ever put his plate on the left side, he would simply not eat. This past week, (as if the memories of that little 3x2 foot space were simply too much to bear) I could not cox him to eat there at all. However, when I moved his paper plate to a throw rug in the living room, he would immediately eat some or all of his food.

Toby has been spending a great deal of time in bed during daylight hours, as if he is depressed. And whereas, he never retired for the night until my wife or I did, now he disappears into the bedroom just after the sun goes down.

Toby has exhibited another strange, but equally poignant behavior pattern. Since his own collar is a bit tight and difficult to snap, we have put Queenie’s old collar on him prior to taking him outside for his liquid constitutional. As a result, when we walk into the front yard, an animal that has always been (literally) “Johnny on the spot” refuses to ‘go,’ but, rather, lays down on his back.

Now and then, I have let Queenie’s name slip, and when I have there is a noticeable reaction. Without fail, Toby turns his head towards me and it is like he grimaces slightly, as if he is thinking,

“Can she really be gone?”

As a pastoral counselor I have often mused that,

“I would have made a more lucrative yearly income as a dog psychologist” (and) “After all, I could have said anything I wanted to the dog, and could have reported that he ‘told’ me what amounted to a load of malarkey, and the owner wouldn’t have known any better.”

All this to say I have had a very unique experience with Toby this week, something which I have never experienced in my 71 years on this planet, (much less in my 30 years as a pastoral counselor).

It is like I can sense his pain, almost as though his sadness, disillusionment and confusion are exuding through his body. Sitting next to him I can feel the emptiness of his present world, and his longing for Queenie to, if it were possible, suddenly materialize before him, or at least walk back through the front door. And his eyes reveal such a present absence of ‘there there.’ Those beady black pupils are simply blank and unblinking. And I cannot sit next to him without feeling an overwhelming sadness, and wish that I could make it all better. The best I can do is say,

“I know you miss her. I miss her too. But we will see her again one day.”

Afterward

I readily admit it. During the course of my seven plus decades, I have never spent time around a grieving pet. This past week has been an enlightening experience, to say the least.

This experience has caused me to be more sensitive towards the grieving pets of the world. May God bless, help and encourage them, as He also has the human beings who have lost the precious canines and felines in their care; little friends which they have known and loved for so long.

by William McDonald, PhD. Copyright pending