Menu

Pet Bereavement

When an anniversary looms

September has arrived, and with all that comes with a new month, I am reminded that precisely one month from now, my beloved dog Bruce left this world two years ago.

I miss him.

 As I start to write more, I can feel a heaviness around my chest begin to rise, and tears start to form in my eyes. It doesn’t last long, but it’s there.

This reminds me of how my grief has moved, how it has changed shape, and how I can sit longer in my fuller memories (not just his death), with the emotions and sensations in my body that felt impossible two years ago, one year ago, six months ago…

This passing of time does not mean I will ‘get to the end.’ There is no ‘final destination’ for grief being over – it doesn’t happen that way, and if that were a path I could take, I would never choose it. Two years ago, I might have, because the pain felt unbearable then. But now, I understand that grief is suffering AND…

Grief is the thread that keeps us connected through love – it is the price we must pay for loving deeply, and I loved Bruce with my whole being – he was my soul dog, my family, my constant. 

So, as I sit with my thought and emotion, I look around my office and I see everywhere has been touched by Bruce – or, as I like to say, everything has been ‘Bruced!’  20cm to my right is a cup, designed by a dear friend after his death. Then there is the painting of him that I had done when I knew we probably didn’t have much time left. And when I look at the floor, I see Mabel, sleeping in the same sunspot that Bruce loved in my office.

I feel sad, and I feel joy at the same time – a reminder that both emotions can coexist. Because now, I can carry both sorrow and smile at the warm and often funny memories I have.

If you are reading this and thinking, ‘I’ll never get there, ‘you don’t understand, or ‘you clearly didn’t love him as much as you say you did,’ that’s okay! I get it.  And the truth is, maybe you won’t ever feel okay again – I have certainly experienced the depth of believing I wouldn’t be okay again, wondering how on earth I would climb out of this swamp this time. 

But I hope that in time, even if it takes years, which it often does, you learn that being okay doesn’t mean moving on and forgetting.

Grief stays because love stays – and for me, that’s something I would never want to end.

Why I became a Pet Bereavement Counsellor

I have been a qualified counsellor and psychotherapist since 2014, seeing clients with different problems and challenges from trauma to relationship issues, anxiety, depression, and other mental health issues. I love my job, especially witnessing those profound moments with my clients.

I also love animals, having had dogs for most of my life, as well as other pets. Over the years, I have considered combining my work as a therapist with working with pets, but I wasn’t sure how to make that work until a few years ago. 

My journey into pet bereavement counselling began with a profound and very hard personal experience. Bruce, my Kerry Blue Terrier, was in his senior years when I started to feel anxious about his age and health. I didn’t know it at the time, but I was experiencing anticipatory grief, a form of grief that begins before the loss. I tried to ignore it, but the feelings grew stronger, and eventually I reached out for support, contacting a therapist who specialised in pet bereavement. I’d had therapy before, but not for anything like this.

Over the weeks and months, I began to process my thoughts and feelings, making connections to other areas of life that were linked in my experience. When I ended therapy, Bruce was still with us, and he lived a further year.

When the time came to say goodbye, I was devastated, but I also felt somewhat prepared because of the counselling I had previously received.

After that, I knew I wanted to help others too, so I found a course specialising in pet bereavement. I trained because I wanted to bring both personal understanding and professional guidance to those who are struggling.

I have seen many clients over the past few years for pet bereavement, and my goal when I meet them is simple: to offer comfort, support, validation and relief from trauma symptoms.

Through this work, I have had the honour of witnessing the depth of the human-animal connection in its purest form, and I have learned that grief is as unique as the love it grows from.

My other goal is to contribute to breaking the stigma surrounding pet loss by sharing my experiences. Therefore, if you are reading this and it resonates, please know that your grief matters, and you are not silly or overly emotional! You are simply honouring the beautiful bond and connection that means the world to you. Just know that you don’t need to do that alone or in silence. I’m here to listen.

When they say… “It’s just a pet”

I will never forget reading a comment on a Facebook post about six years ago about a person’s experience of losing their pet. Amongst many comments of sympathy, there were the odd responses about ‘it just being a dog’ and telling the person to ‘get over it’.  I even saw a comment that said, ‘it’s not like you lost a member of your family…’ You see, here’s the thing: for many of us, our pets are family, sometimes our only family, or our best family!

At the time, I recall feeling both angry at the comments and confused by my intense feelings of unconditional love for my dog. I knew that I would be completely devastated when he was gone, and I wondered if this meant there was something wrong with me. I didn’t respond. I didn’t tell anyone.

Then, a few years ago, I found a community of other pet lovers just like me. This is a place where we share our photos and stories, celebrating the joys and many shenanigans of our pets’ lives. I finally found my place, my safety, and a place where I was amongst others who understood. Sadly, it also means reading stories about them when they are no longer with us, but seeing the outpouring of love, empathy, and compassion brings comfort during these difficult moments.

I am fortunate to have found this community, but it is disheartening that this was one of only a few places where I felt understood and validated.  Pet loss is still not recognised in society, often being described as ‘disenfranchised grief.’ Even the words ‘disenfranchised grief’ cause me pain in my chest. What does it mean? Well, it’s a form of grief that is not openly acknowledged, socially accepted, or publicly mourned. Awful, right?

The bottom line is this: if you are confused about the intensity of your feelings, please be kind to yourself. It just means you had an incredible, deep bond with your pet, your family, and your loved one. Pets give us unconditional love, loyalty, and companionship, so it makes sense, or at least it does to me, and many others, when you find your people.

And for those who don’t understand, that’s okay too! You don’t need to; you just need to have empathy, which is the ability to put yourself in someone else’s shoes on an emotional level. And if you struggle with that, say nothing at all. It is best to say nothing than to minimise or invalidate a person’s feelings. Grief is complicated enough. Be kind. 

EMDR and Pet Bereavement

Understanding EMDR Therapy

EMDR stands for ‘Eye Movement Desensitisation Reprocessing’ and is a form of psychotherapy originally developed to treat trauma and PTSD. Unlike traditional talk therapy, EMDR helps clients process distressing memories by engaging the brain in bilateral stimulation—usually through guided eye movements, tapping, or auditory tones. This process mimics the natural way our brains process information during REM sleep, helping to “unstick” painful memories so they can be reprocessed more adaptively.

Why Pet Loss Can Be Traumatic

For many, the bond with a pet is profound, often offering a type of unconditional love that’s hard to replicate. When that relationship ends, mainly due to sudden death, euthanasia, or traumatic circumstances, it can leave emotional wounds that feel just as deep as losing a human loved one.

People grieving a pet may also experience:

  • Guilt over decisions like euthanasia

  • Shame or isolation because others may not understand the depth of the loss

  • Intrusive memories or flashbacks, especially if the loss was traumatic

  • Complicated grief that lingers and disrupts daily life

Benefits of EMDR for Pet Loss

  1. Reduces Emotional Intensity

EMDR helps reduce the distress associated with painful memories. If you find yourself reliving the moment of your pet’s death or feeling overwhelmed with guilt, EMDR can gently help your brain process those emotions, making them feel less raw and triggering.

  1. Addresses Complicated Grief

When grief becomes prolonged or interferes with daily functioning, EMDR can help target the specific “stuck” points in the grieving process.

  1. Resolves Guilt and Regret

Many pet owners carry guilt about medical decisions, the timing of euthanasia, or perceived failures in care. EMDR can help resolve these feelings by uncovering the underlying beliefs (e.g., “I should have done more”) and reprocessing them in a more compassionate light.

  1. Validates and Honors the Bond

EMDR doesn’t “erase” memories – it helps you engage with them more healthily. For those mourning a pet, EMDR can allow space for grief while also strengthening positive memories, helping you reconnect with the joy and love your pet brought into your life.

  1. Improves Sleep and Anxiety

Grief can disturb sleep, trigger anxiety, or even lead to symptoms similar to PTSD. EMDR helps regulate the nervous system, offering relief from these physical and emotional symptoms.

Final Thought:

Pet loss is often underestimated in our society, but the pain is real, and healing is possible. EMDR offers a compassionate, research-backed approach to helping you process your trauma, allowing you to grieve.

The decision to get another dog

Bruce, my Kerry Blue Terrier, was my soul dog. He was born in 2011, and he lived until he was twelve and a half years old. Bruce was not an easy dog; he was a terrier and I, and everyone else knew it! Loving and affectionate to those he knew, not a fan of people or animals he did not know – especially cats, dogs, the window cleaner, the postman…basically everything.  He had attitude and character, and he was a bit of a handful, but he was my dog, and I loved his terrier attitude.

When Bruce was in his twilight years, I began to imagine what life would be like without him. Instantly, I would feel sick and anxious, and it would send me into a negative spiral. I could not imagine a world without him, and I was certain that I would never have a dog again. It was not because I didn’t want another dog; I love dogs. No, I could never imagine loving another dog as much as I loved Bruce. I also felt that I would ache for years, and that it would be somehow disrespectful to have another. Almost like, having another dog meant I didn’t love Bruce as much as I claimed.

I said goodbye to Bruce on October 2, 2023, and my heart was broken. I knew it was coming, and I had processed a lot of feelings before (see my other blog on ‘anticipatory grief’), but nothing could have prepared me for the pain I felt that day. I felt lost and bereft.

Then, a few days later, I started looking at puppies with honest intention. I felt ashamed, confused, and curious all at once. 

So here is the thing, I am a therapist, which means analysing EVERYTHING – It is annoying. I wondered whether I was trying to avoid my feelings or transferring my attachment to another dog. I wrestled with my thoughts and feelings until November, only 5 weeks later, when I put my name down for a Welsh Terrier puppy. I was excited as well as simultaneously overwhelmed by guilt.

Mabel the Welshie arrived in December, and at first, I thought, ‘Oh goodness, what have I done?’ She wasn’t Bruce, and she was small, bitty, and playful, like puppies are. She was a real handful!

I don’t know when it happened, but I know it wasn’t long after she arrived that I realised that this was the right decision, and that I loved Mabel differently, once I had stopped comparing her to Bruce.

The decision to get another pet is not an easy one, and whether you do or you don’t, you wait for years, or bring another pet into your life immediately, is your decision, and there is no ‘right way.’

For me, I love animals, and life without them, even temporarily, left me feeling out of sync. Once I stopped analysing what it all meant and looked at my decision through a compassionate lens, I stopped worrying.  I also knew that I could give another dog a wonderful life. Bruce will always be my soul dog, and bringing Mabel into my life has not diminished that, but there was room in my life and my heart to welcome another dog into my life.

My motivation for writing this is not to convince you to get another pet straight away. That’s a personal decision, and a path you must take. However, I know from experience that other pet owners have felt guilty about bringing other pets into their lives. My intention in sharing is to let those people know that it’s okay if you do, because it’s never about replacing or forgetting.

Anticipatory grief

It was a cold day in November, and we were staying at an Airbnb in North Wales. It was our third day, and we had been walking most of the day. As we rested for the evening, I noticed that Bruce, our nine-year-old Kerry Blue Terrier, was unusually tired. He had done a similar walk the day before, and the day before that, but he was used to that. Or so he was before this trip.

His tale was curled under his hind legs, and he was more subdued and tired. You may think, ‘Well, of course he was tired, he has just done three days walking!’ And maybe for most dogs, this would be an obvious conclusion, but not for Bruce.

I panicked, wondering if he was ill, but all other signs pointed to him being okay. So, I did the thing they tell you not to do: I went on Google to find my answers. What I found should have reassured me, as most articles did not point to anything sinister. Instead, the comments focused on ‘slowing down’, describing the signs as typical of dogs in their ‘senior years.’ It was in that moment that I experienced my first wave of what I would come to realise was ‘anticipatory grief.’ I did not know it then, but for the next eighteen months, I would be hyper vigilant and incredibly anxious; my grieving process had begun.

I became more aware that he was slowing down, his face was greying, and his arthritis was getting worse, and whenever he was out of sorts, it would send me into a mass panic. I tried to talk to people, but they did not understand. They wondered why I was thinking about him dying when he was still alive. I felt like I was spoiling the time we had together. This was strange and confusing, and it did not stop the thoughts coming alongside the intense emotions that hit me like waves.

I started to think there was something morbidly wrong with me, and as a therapist, I thought this was something I should be able to handle. I began to feel like a failure, and alone in this place; I did not understand.

Then one night, whilst feeling alone and upset, I turned to Google again. This time, I searched for therapists who specialised in pet bereavement therapy and was shocked to find several sites. I came across one and saw a poem that the therapist had written. Tears of relief rolled down my cheeks as I knew in that moment this therapist would understand. I did not hesitate; I emailed her immediately. I worked with her for 18 months.

My therapy helped me process my anticipatory grief and work through other experiences in my life that were connected. And when therapy ended, Bruce was still by my side. He died one year later.

Leaning into my grief, not rejecting it, or shaming myself for feeling this way, and the support I received, I believe, contributed to my healing process when the time came to say goodbye to Bruce. 

As a therapist already, this experience shaped me, and I have been passionate ever since in helping other pet owners navigate their grief, whether it occurs before, during, or after the loss of their pet. Sadly, there is still stigma about pet loss grief, but I am here to let you know that you are not alone.