How To Keep Your Heart Open When You Lose A Pet

Lissa Rankin, May 3, 2012

losing a pet

I was only seven when my parents hired a chimneysweep to wipe out the cobwebs on our brick flue. They didn’t expect him to stumble into a nest of four baby squirrels so tiny they had veiny, bluish, hairless skin and fused eyes. The chimneysweep brought the nest of baby squirrels into our house, but my mother insisted we must put them back, that maybe their mother would return for them, and that if she didn’t, perhaps it was God’s will for them to die.

I was having none of that. I had heard that animals will often reject their young if they have been touched by human hands, and since these baby squirrels bore the scent of the chimneysweep, I was unwilling to take a chance. I was a second-grader on a mission.

A Girl On A Mission

I insisted my parents take me to the veterinarian, so I could learn how to rescue those little baby squirrels. The veterinarian taught me to create a makeshift incubator by filling an aquarium with polyester fiberfill and shining a light on the little babies. Then he taught me how to feed them canned dog’s milk with an eye dropper every two hours and how to wipe their little genitals with a warm washcloth to mimic how their mother would lick them to make them go to the bathroom. He warned me that they probably wouldn’t survive, even if I did everything perfectly, but he praised me for caring about them and suggested that maybe I should get good grades in school so I could become a doctor or a veterinarian one day. I decided, in that moment, that I would.

Every night I set an alarm to wake myself up so I could feed those babies. And I got special permission to bring my squirrels in a duffel bag to school so I could feed them there. Every time I checked on them, my heart raced because I was afraid they might have died. And every time I saw their little pink bodies squirming, my heart rushed with love for them and I praised God for letting them live another day with me.

The Loss

Then one night, the alarm blared and I peered into the lit aquarium to see that one of the babies was still. The other babies were climbing over her, grabbing for the eye dropper of milk. I wept, alone in my princess bedroom, holding that little dead squirrel to the broken heart that beat under my flannel pajamas.

Over the next two days, the other three squirrels all died. Each time, I felt like my guts were getting ripped out. I could feel the pain in my stomach, clenching, gripping, ripping. I could feel the knot in my throat, clogging my breath and making it hard to swallow.

I could feel my heart cracked wide open like my seven year old heart had never been cracked. I sat on my mother’s lap as she stroked my forehead and I said, “I’m never loving anything ever again.”

My mother rocked me and whispered, “Don’t ever close your heart, darling. That’s how the light gets in.”

I kept that aquarium in my room for weeks with the light still on, gazing into it longingly, wishing they were still there. I replaced them with imaginary squirrels who followed me everywhere and cracked open acorns.

Starting Over

It wasn’t long before someone who had met my babies was driving down the road in her car when a baby squirrel fell out of a tree and landed on her windshield. The squirrel, who I named Romulus, had a broken leg and a bloody mouth when she drove him to my house and laid him in my healing hands. I fell in love and rushed to action. Once the leg was set and the mouth stopped bleeding, the baby squirrel, who was much older than the first four and already had fur and open eyes, became my best friend. I carried Romulus with me everywhere I went, and after school, we’d play in the park. I’d put him down on the ground and run away from him, and he’d chase me until I finally let him catch up. Then he’d run up my leg, all the way up to my shoulder, where he’d burrow under my hair.

The Squirrel Girl

A reporter snapped my photo. They put it in the paper and called me the “Squirrel Girl.” The name stuck.

The problem arose when my squirrel hit puberty and wanted to start making baby squirrels with all the hot little girly squirrels out there. Although he still slept with me and nestled under my hair, he started biting everybody else. It became evident I couldn’t keep him, so we had to find an animal preserve where we could release a hand-fed squirrel into the wild.

We found the place. Big oak trees sprawled. Hot little girly squirrels flitted about, sitting on their haunches, chomping acorns. There were frog-filled lily ponds and blossoming trees and fragrant jasmine bushes covering a gazebo. It was squirrely paradise. My heart leapt with the joy of having found such a perfect home for Romulus, then it sank just as quickly into the depths of despair I knew I was about to experience when I said goodbye to him.

The Release

I sat on the ground, holding him to my face, so I could tell him how much I loved him and how grateful I was to have spent this time with him. I wanted him to understand I would keep him forever, if only my parents would let me, if only he’d stop biting people, but I understood that he wanted to have squirrely babies all his own and I didn’t blame him for his bad behavior.

Snuggling him to my cheek, I told Romulus I would always love him, that I would never, ever forget him, and that I didn’t want him to feel like I was abandoning him. Really, I was doing it for his own good, and it was the hardest thing I’d ever had to do in my seven years.

Then I kissed him and put him on the bark of a tree, trying to smile while my eyes welled up.

“Shoo! Scat! Go find squirrely girlfriends!” I tried to sound cheerful.

Then Romulus tore down the tree trunk, traversed the soft grass, crawled onto my shoe and ran up the leg of my jeans to sit on my shoulder. Crying, I tried again. The same thing happened half a dozen times. By this time I was a total wreck.

The last time, I started running away from Romulus the minute I put him down, tear-assing to the car as fast as I could. He chased after me until my mother finally caught up with him and picked him up. When he tried to bite her, she dropped him and he ran after me again.

We finally got help from the park ranger.

Oh, The Pain

I’ll never forget the visceral pain in my gut and my chest as we drove away from that nature preserve. I could barely breathe. I told my mother I was never - EVER - going to raise another squirrel, that it was just too hard to love them and leave them.

Six months later, another squirrel appeared on my doorstep, and I started all over again.

This is sacred medicine - the willingness to open your heart again and again, even when you know how much it might hurt in the end.

Have You Lost A Furry Friend You Love?

Because pets aren’t human, it’s easy to feel that our grief isn’t respected when we love a pet. But having lost several animals in my life, I know that the pain can be just as great as when we lose a person we love.

Tell us about a pet you’ve lost. Let us witness your courage as you keep your heart open and learn to love again.

The Squirrel Girl,

Lissa

Lissa Rankin, MD: Founder of OwningPink.com, Pink Medicine Revolutionary, motivational speaker, and author of What’s Up Down There? Questions You’d Only Ask Your Gynecologist If She Was Your Best Friend and Encaustic Art: The Complete Guide To Creating Fine Art With Wax.

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Comments

Linus

By Olivia Lane (not verified) on Saturday, 05/12/2012 at 5:46 PM

Thank you for sharing this story. I love squirrels and I love the truth of your experience. I've lost so many pets, but I think the hardest loss was the sudden death of my cat Linus almost 4 years ago. He was such a fun and loving critter! It took so long for me to heal from losing him. Frankly, I think I am still healing. I have a cat now, but it's not the same. I agree that it's important to learn to open your heart again. I am trying. Thank you for the reminder.

It's true Lissa, not everyone

By Michelle Medina (not verified) on Wednesday, 05/09/2012 at 4:23 PM

It's true Lissa, not everyone respects our grieving of our animals!
Thank you for posting this and allowing us to share!
Here, my Doggy Daughter Grace's Eulogy, because YES, she was/is my daughter, and not 'just a dog'!!
Originally Posted: Monday, March 09, 2009
Written: aprox 6 days after my Doggie Daughter Gracie died.
Current mood:Somber/sad
Category: Writing and Poetry
So it's been 6 days, almost one full week. I still don't know whether
I'm coming or going. My Doggie daughter (Gracie Marie) is gone, and I
still don't know. I can listen to "Finding Beauty in Negative Spaces"
even though I played it while my sister and I washed her off and
brushed out her fur and cut the mats out. I can hear it and usually be
okay while hearing it. I can't decide what to eat though. I can't
decide if I'm hungry or not hungry. Sick or not sick. I can't stand at
the sink brushing my teeth without having someone to talk to and not
remember the way her paws clutched at me in the throws of death. I
can't stand to be alone to long but I can't stand to be around most
people either. I can't stand being in this house without her in it,
but I can't stand leaving this house because she's buried outside and
I don't want to leave her alone. She's not alone since her body is all
that remains and her spirit is at home on the other side, but I still
can't stand to leave her alone. I can't remember anything but I can't
forget her last 40 minutes of life, some of it spent arguing with Dad
over stupid money I couldn't find to take her to the vet that seems so
irrelevant now and was such a waste of time! I was going to get her to
the vet, going to help her but she died before I could. I hear her
panting, feel her heart racing beneath my palm. I remember patting her
and feel her fur and hear her struggling to breathe. She tried to go
potty but couldn't. Dad tried to get her to drink water but she
couldn't. I tried to save her but I couldn't. It was just like that. I
was watching L&O SVU: "Rage" & then my sister is saying:
"We think Grace's dying!" She's crying & I'm asking
"Why? Where is she?"
When I get out there, their all sitting around her on the flor, on the
couches & their crying or alternately acting calm. They aren't even
doing anything! Their just sitting there, so I sit and reach out for
her. My mother nudges her forward and I take hold of her, start
patting her and trying to calm her down. I say
"Call the vet."
They ask for the number and I give it. They call, ask me how old she
is and for once, I hear myself giving the correct answer:
"Thirteen."
Usually I screw up and say she's five. In my mind, Gracie is five, was
always five. She never grew older, never changed. She just didn't,
couldn't, wouldn't. But she did. I was worried about what it would be
like for her to go blind since she was a Cocker Spaniel. Little did I
realize that her heart murmur would take her first.
I feel her spirit pushing me forward, hear that long breath. The one
that seemed to take almost a full minute, and then there was no more
panting. I thought that was it, but she kept fighting. She kept taking
small breaths, inhale stop. Exhale stop. Inhale stop. Exhale stop. She
should have died at 4:15 but fought like hell for another 20 minutes.
It was 4:35 when she finally gave up. I can feel the couple of times
her head seemed to spin completely around. It jerked and brushed the
side of my face as I held her tight. I can feel her front paws
clutching at me and remember that sound her head made as it moved like
that. I can feel the jerking and hear the breathing. I was doing
things before for the most part, but now I'm home and we went shopping
but couldn't stay gone. It's 2AM and I'm sitting here typing now. I'm
sick and trying to hold in all my tears. It seems like their endless.
I remember wanting to hit Mom because she new Grace was gone but she
said:
"Lisa, c'mon. Maybe it's just the flu and she's really sick and we'll
take her to the vet and she'll be alright! They'll help her!"
Then she started crying. I was stuck with her and Becca & Eddie and
Dad, Bella and Cymmy kept coming into the living room to investigate.
It was like a fucking circus and I just wanted to hit them all! I
wanted to run into my room and lay on the bed with her in my arms and
never let go. I wanted to take her away where I could keep her all to
myself, didn't have to let anyone else see or touch or take care of
her. I wanted it just to be us! Her and I and noone else! I remember
Dad saying we should take her outside. He opened the door and I set
her down on the porch. He walked out and closed the door and I put on
my shoes and coat and was gone out to the porch to. He said she didn't
look well at all and I picked her up and held her. I kept saying
everything would be okay. We went back in and she had had her first
spasm outside. I knew she was leaving but I couldn't let her. I wanted
her to stay with me! I wanted her here but I did finally tell her to
let go. She still kept fighting and I had to say it again. I could
bearly get the words out. It was like my entire throat closed up and I
couldn't breathe let alone speak. Then there was mom calling her
sister and me phoning Holly and the other mother. There was brushing
and petting and holding. I asked Becca if she thought Mom would make
our BLTs we'd been planning for dinner, I just felt like we were
supposed to keep moving. 6 days later, I'm still trying to move. It's
like everything is still in slow motion. I eat because I'm "supposed
to". I talk to slow and swallow to fast and don't chew at all.
Nothing's real but everything's to real and I feel nothing and
everything. I cry and then I'm "fine" but not really. Fine just means
not crying. Crying means not fine. Food is ok or bad. Ok means "good"
and bad means "not tasting, not feeling textures". I'm either
comfortable "not cold" or uncomfortable "freezing from the inside
out." Music doesn't even help any more. I sing and I talk to people
and I type (some) and I check my youtube account, but I don't really
do anything. I'm watching myself do everything. My brain is overloaded
with images of Grace. Like a friend said,
"You want to focus not on the bad memories that make you cry, but on
the good memories that make you cry."
She's right, everything makes me cry. Seeing Duke and Snowball and
Tigger and KittyKitty and Belle and Carmel makes me cry. If I'm not
near them, that makes me cry to.
I keep thinking I should have made it to the vet, should have saved
her. She lived a good life but I still should have helped. I can feel
her body in my arms, she was warm because I kept her that way. I held
her almost every second that we weren't brushing her. If I wasn't
holding her I was lying curled up around her. No reason to protect her
in death but that's what I was doing. My arms don't ache anymore ,
neither to my legs from standing with her so long. Now the only things
that ache are my heart and soul, both things that are intangible. I
can hear my sister saying ew and cringing when I moved her body and
blood came out of her mouth and nose. I can see her lying on the floor
and hear her boyfriend telling her to get up and hear her saying that
she doesn't want to. It should have been me on the floor but it
couldn't be me because I had to take care of Gracie. She needed me and
I couldn't fumble the ball, I had to help her, but I did fumble the
ball because she isn't here. All I have left of my baby daughter is a
collar! A collar and to many memories that I can't live with or
without! A collar that smells like her and animals all around me who
belong to others, to remind me that I'm not owned anymore, that I
don't belong to a pet anymore. Animals that simultaneously comfort and
discomfort me. Animals that simultaneously love me and torment me just
by their existence.
It was suggested that maybe if I could figure out why Grace was put
here I could figure out why I was here. In other words, why I was
supposed to go on without her. I think she was here to teach me
independence. I remember my parents saying that I could take her for
walks. There was my incentive to gain more independence and stop being
such a chicken shit! My words not theirs. But I didn't take her for
walks, I didn't hold her as much as I should have or play with her as
much as I should have or value her as much as I should have or even
realize just how much I loved her! I didn't brush her as much as I
should have or cut out the mats from her fur as much as I should have,
and although none of those things would have stopped her from dying
when it was her time they still plague me. Their glaring inadequacies
on my part and now I have no way to remedy them because she's gone.
She loves me unconditionally still, I feel her here, but I don't love
me unconditionally and now everything I should have done or didn't do
haunts me. I shouldn't have let her drink out of the toilet even
though Dad thought it was a great idea. I shouldn't have spanked her
so hard that she cried out the day she bit Bella's ear and I shouldn't
have tossed her away from me the day she bit me after I spanked her
for biting Becca. All these things I shouldn't have done and even
though I apologized for them and she forgave me I can't forgive me now
that she's gone and I feel like I have to apologize for them over and
over again. I feel like I have to make her understand just how sorry I
really am and that I didn't mean to treat her the way she was treated
before she came to me. She was abused before, we got her from the
animal shelter and I never meant to do that to her again. I wanted to
make her life better and pamper and protect her and keep her in the
lap of luxury like she deserved. I feel her pushing me to move on but
I don't want to. I want to go outside and lay on her grave forever, to
just freeze to death and feel nothing. I want to crawl out of my skin
and run and run and run until this is all over and I can't feel or
remember any of it anymore. I want to forget everything and remember
everything and keep busy and not move at all. I want to go back to
Friday and apologize for sitting on her paws accidentally when I went
to check the answering machine and she was laying in her usual spot at
the end of the couch. I want to hold her all day long and give her the
bath I was supposed to give her and let her know how much I love her!
I want her back!!
Please stay my Gracie, my baby, please stay!!!
---
Gracie Marie Medina
Best Doggie Daughter of them all!
Original birthdate unnone.
First birthday with us 4/11/02.
Died Friday 1/23/09 4:35PM.
Mommy misses you baby!

I did open my heart again, I currently have a 5 to 6 year-old CockerSpaniel named Sadie, rescued from a puppymill 2/14/09, which is why they weren't sure of her exact age.

For the love of Max and Mayo

By Isabel Gallego (not verified) on Saturday, 05/05/2012 at 7:03 AM

With tears streaming down my face, I will share our story...
Max and Mayo were two white Boxers (brothers) that came into my life in 2001. I never wanted a pet or pets for that matter but my fiance at the time did...so here we go.
As I walked in the door from work one day, my fiance yelled out, "look what I got us"..and down the hall came barreling two beautiful and clumsy white boxer puppies. They ran straight into my arms and that's when I fell in love, wrapped my arms around them and never, ever let go.
They became my entire world, my children. Yep, I became the crazy dog owner. So needless to say, they got me through a few break ups :)
My life revolved around their needs and what was best for them, everything and everyone came second..including me and I have no regrets about that.
We had a wonderful life. Max and Mayo grew to be 90 lbs each, I was and still am total of 116 lbs. They were a handful but I loved every minute of it. Max was bigger than his brother and also THE TROUBLE MAKER and could escape out of any crate locks and all. Mayo was ...THE ANGEL. He was the perfect gentleman so innocent and curious about everything and everyone.
They eventually grew out of puppyhood by age 7 and we would spend our times going for walks and cuddling. Life was perfect.
Two years ago Max was diagnosed with heart failure and seven months later so was Mayo.It is a terminal disease in dogs. I was two semesters from graduating with my bachelors degree in Biology and Chemistry. I was going to go to I dropped out of college and worked 6 days a week to pay for all their medications, care and visits to the Vet. We held on to eachother ferociously. I worked my ass off to give them everything they needed and they fought hard to stay alive. I am a raw foodist and decided to put them both on a raw diet for dogs. They Vet had given me 6 months of life at best. Everytime we did blood work he was amazed at how well their profile looked so I finally confessed about their raw diet. He said.."it's amazing how well they are doing considering how the disease had progressed". He said "it's your love that's keeping them alive". Mayo passed away a few months later at home in my arms. Max however lived 11 months and 30 days past his diagnosis. I came home and found that he had passed comfortably where I left him.
At home one day after having nowhere to run and hide from the pain and devastation I went in the kitchen and made a raw energy snack bar. Thinking nothing of it, I shared it with a few people and it began to sell like crazy! People loved the taste and all the health benefits it provided. They all began to ask and become more open to raw foods. Today I have a small but thriving business. I am no longer going to medical school, although I still am finishing up my degree. Today I want to practice medicine in a different way..Preventive Medicine. I dedicate the company to Max and Mayo for this is what I believe they left behind for me. This was their gift to me. After seeing the benefits of raw foods in myself and in them I am passionate about sharing it with the rest of the world. And, it's becasue of Max and Mayo, those beautiful souls who came into my life to show me the way, to point me in the direction I'm meant to go in. I see clearly now that this was their purpose in coming into my life.
So I dedicate my company to always give back to animal causes. U Rawk Raw Energy Bars is proud to be an ambassador and guardian for the ASPCA and the Forever Friends pet rescue. This is how I stay connected to them, I will never let go. Till I see them in the light again..I love you Max and Mayo

How to keep your heart open

By Gwen (not verified) on Friday, 05/04/2012 at 11:46 PM

Aww yes Lissa, we lost our dog Pearl (under a month away from her 14th birthday) 2 months ago, so it's still very fresh on how it feels. She had cancer. Gone within 2 weeks of diagnosis. So we got to love her lots in that time. The prednisone also gave her a new lease on life in that time. But one morning I woke to find her dying. It was traumatic watching her pass slowly, waiting 4 hours for a vet.
We have our 2 cats and it has taken them a while to adjust as well.
I won't get any more pets, the cats can have all of the attention now.

Love and light

misty

By Anonymous (not verified) on Friday, 05/04/2012 at 3:04 PM

I was going through a very viscious divorce when a very old black and white stray cat came into my home. She was perfect for my 4 year old to play with, give loveies to while I was focused on battling the court system, and to put in his trailer so that she was everywhere that he was. I was finally allowed to relocate to be closer to my family, Misty came too. Only 3 months of us being here her health quickly deteriorated. I realised that I had to put here down. But I also realised that I she had come into our lives at exactly the time that we needed her to help us, to give us love to support the change that we were going through and to give us unconditional love. She saw us through what we neeeded to do. To move on. I held her while she passed away and told her how much we loved her for being such a special soul for us. It was a toughie.

Little Fat Dog

By Tracy (not verified) on Friday, 05/04/2012 at 1:36 PM

"Little fat dog" is the song my husband would always sing to our yorkie, Zoie, even though she wasn't really fat. She was a rescue dog that we got when a Kennel was raided, she had been a breeder dog and the vet didn't think she would make it by the time she was rescued. Not only did she make it, but she thrived to live well into old age and no one could tell she had been in such horrible shape with her feisty attitude and ability to understand a large vocabulary of words from sit to "get your toy". She was happy and healthy until the very end and passed quietly in her sleep. This was just three days after my grandfather passed on my birthday and the evening before I was leaving to flight out to stay with my grandmother. While the double whammy hit me hard, I imagine them in spirit together and find peace knowing they would love to spend time doing what grandpa's and cute little dogs would do together.

Our sweet old man cat,

By Sophia (not verified) on Friday, 05/04/2012 at 7:23 AM

Our sweet old man cat, Chaucer, died last year. When I met my husband, he had two cats, and Chaucer was the dominant head-butting boy cat that liked to test my patience. Over the years I grew to love that cat so much. Due to his failing health in old age, we had to make the hardest (but most humane) of decisions and let him go (I am tearing up just writing this). I am always amazed that a 15-pound cat could impact me so much.

Dearest Kitty Love

By Lauren (not verified) on Friday, 05/04/2012 at 4:59 AM

I lost my "baby" last year (my cat). Dash was only 3 years old, I found him lying near the litter box and he was already gone. Dr said it was probably a heart defect. He used to reach for me to pick him up and drape himself over my shoulder, he also would snuggle under the covers and take naps with me. It was one of the worst moments as it wasn't expected at all. Its amazing how much love I had for that little guy, and its still painful after a year. But their are other kitty babies who need rescuing out there, and they'll always find a good home with me.

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