How Kiwis cope with the wrench of losing a pet

For many of us, our furry friends are like family – and, writes Amy Ridout ,it hurts just as much when they go.

Telling someone their beloved pet has met its end on the road is heartwrenching, says Brenna Coleman.

‘‘If I can get them home to the families I will try. Informing an owner is awful, but I will be as honest as I can about the cat’s condition, and what has happened.’’

Since 2017, Coleman has collected two dogs, two rabbits and close to 200 dead cats from around Nelson and Tasman. She takes them to vets to check microchips – fewer than half are chipped, she estimates – and posts on Facebook to try to find the owners.

‘‘I can’t stand the thought of someone’s cat alone at the side of the road.’’

Coleman has lost several pets herself. A few years ago, her cat Hunter vanished without a trace. And in September, another cat Cuddles was killed by a dog.

‘‘I was quite depressed for a really long time. I had sudden bursts of sadness, and it was hard to get up and care for myself and the other animals.

‘‘I had a lot of people telling me it was just a cat, to get over it. People don’t understand what it’s like when you do lose a pet, it’s like losing a child. When it hits, you struggle to deal with it.’’

The first cat Coleman collected was Angel, in 2017, after seeing a post on Facebook. She headed out immediately, finding the cat curled up under a tree.

After two days calling vets, she found Angel’s owner, a woman in her 80s. Together, they buried the cat, and the elderly woman showed Coleman photos of Angel, who she’d had for 18 years.

At that point, Coleman’s own cat, Hunter, had been missing for almost a year. ‘‘If it was my cat,

I’d want someone to do the same.’’

A dog or cat’s short lifespan means guaranteed heartbreak. Sometimes, the grief is so great that people can’t bear to replace a pet. That’s not Coleman. ‘‘I do get more, they bring such joy, even for a short time’’.

Grieving a pet is a bittersweet process that begins as an animal edges into old age, she says. As legs falter and eyesight fails, you brace yourself for goodbye. ‘‘[But ] no matter how much time you think you have to prepare yourself, it’s never enough.’’

Over his 35-year career, vet Roger Bay has seen good deaths, not-so-good deaths, and things he can’t explain: dogs that wander over to nudge a deceased family pet; horses returning daily to a burial spot; or parading one by one to salute a fallen friend.

‘‘There’s a letting go of more than just a body; there’s no explanation,’’ Bay says. ‘‘Although, I haven’t seen the same with cats.’’

Like most vets, Bay got into the industry because he loved animals. ‘‘But as you mature it becomes obvious it’s more about the people, and the connection.’’

He’s seen all kinds of grief, from stoic acceptance at the end of a long life, to the shock at news of an inoperable tumour or injury.

As pets become ever more central to family life, there’s a growing recognition around the

impact of their loss, he says. Alongside this, veterinary practice is evolving to ensure new graduates develop empathy alongside technical skill.

Increasingly, Bay and his team euthanise animals outside the clinic. Pets are farewelled at home, in a favourite basket or on a bed, while other owners opt to say goodbye at a spot their pet has always loved.

‘‘Let them walk along the river or the beach, and then say goodbye in the back of the car when they are happy and relaxed; make a really lovely ceremony of it.’’

As a vet, it’s an honour to be part of an intimate family moment, Bay says. ‘‘You’re doing a technical professional job well, but managing the grief, the pastoral responsibility of that.’’

Loving Tributes Pet Cremations founder and counsellor Gaelynn Beswick believes there is still an empathy gap when it comes to losing a pet.

‘‘Some people who have never had close relationships with a pet don’t understand,’’ Beswick says. ‘‘If we lose a family member we are allowed bereavement leave. We don’t get that for a pet. [But] for some, it’s overwhelming. I have had people that don’t want to carry on.’’

The lack of recognition can make grieving a pet a lonely experience and, at the crematorium, Beswick witnesses some of that anguish.

She remembers a farmer ashamed about his depth of feeling over the loss of his dog.

‘‘He said, ‘I’m hurting more than when I lost my mother’. [The dog] was the one being that lived with him, it was part of the fabric of his life.’’

Beswick, who has lost a child, isn’t offended by any comparisons between child loss and pet loss.

‘‘When people don’t have children, these pets are their children.’’

Beswick has farewelled many animal friends. As a child, she shed tears for the pets she buried beneath the macrocarpa hedge at the back of her garden. These days, she’s more philosophical: grief is part of life, she says.

But some losses run unexpectedly deep. Like that of Chicken Licken, who had turned up on her doorstep one day and never left.

‘‘Chicken Licken was my therapy chicken, she had a knack of turning up for people when they needed her.’’

Once, when a little boy sat on her floor and sobbed over the death of his dog, Chicken Licken pecked at the door.

‘‘I asked the boy, ‘do you like chickens?’ He said yes. I handed Chicken Licken to this boy, he just snuggled into him.’’

When Chicken Licken got sick and had to be put down, ‘‘I cried and cried and cried. I had a special relationship with this little chicken.

‘‘One of the reasons I’m telling you this story is it doesn’t matter what the pet is to anybody, if it’s a bird or a horse or a dog. It’s about the relationship.’’

People sometimes ask Beswick why she chooses to work with deceased animals and their bereft owners.

But in the grief, all she sees is love.

‘‘I meet so many lovely people that love their pets. The relationships we have with animals is amazing, really special.’’