We bonded with our neighbor over joint walks to the street to let our dogs out. Rita, a long-haired dachshund, donned a Burberry collar. We called her Regal Rita as she strutted around the complex like a miniature four-legged queen. She was cautious of Tango, perhaps thinking she would have to fend him off. But Tango, being 15 at the time they met, a year older than Rita, had no romantic interests. They became old friends giving each other a sniff, a wag of the tail and sharing their doggie treats.
Our neighbor and I had a common understanding of the deep love we have for our dogs and how our happiness centered around the wellbeing of these precious companions. We shared the challenges of owning a senior dog; success is measured in how often they poop. How sometimes it is easier to carry them to the curb rather than anticipate an accident in the hallway. How many times they were up during the night. He joked of how when Rita passes, there would be a Shiva in her honor.
It was a month ago I opened the apartment door and bumped into my neighbor. It was the look on his face that I knew immediately. “Oh, no, not…”, I said, reaching out to him. “Yes, we took her to the vet yesterday”, he replied. I teared up. He teared up. We hugged. And just like that little regal Rita was gone.
Tango knew instinctively. He sniffed the door that day, as he always did for the past two years, a sort of hello to his friend. He sniffed the door once more and has never gone there since. When he saw our neighbor, he leaned into his leg as if to give him a hug.
We are taught loss is loss. Our neighbor loved, cared for, and worried for his beloved Rita. She was a constant in his life for 16 years. She travelled with him to work, on holidays and moved to Calgary as part of their family. She was his fur baby who held his heart and filled his life with unconditional joy. There will never be another Rita.
That’s how it is with life and loss. It cannot be measured. The impact one has on us is our own relationship. Unique, no other person will be able to feel how that relationship sits inside you. How big or small their impact was on you. This is why loss is loss. One cannot compare the love felt to another love felt. Whether that intense love was received through a person or pet, loss isn’t about comparisons to whose pain is greater. It is about the love we shared with them, to which we mourn.
The love of a pet is profound, it is inexplainable. With the loss of a pet, deep grief is inescapable. I watch my neighbor mourn her with the same reactions and components one does with any other major loss. He said, a week after her passing, “I’m not getting over her”. To which I replied, “and you never will. She took with her a portion of your heart”.
Rita, your big brown eyes, and your dainty bunny hops down the path gave me joy each walk with you. You were quite the lady. Thank you for sharing with all of us the love of a dog.
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