I feel ya, dude. I lost my first chicken this weekend, and it’s not the same, of course, as chickens aren’t pets, but Fudge Pie was the runt, and I’d saved her once when she flipped out of the brooder and went comatose, reviving in my warm touch and insistence that she drink the garlic/honey/vinegar water I dunked her beak into as medicinal. This time she slipped out of the safety of her enclosure and was taken down by a hawk. I deep-cleaned the whole house this weekend, in between bouts of crying and chiding myself for mourning a chicken... who would rush up when I visited and liked to roost in my palm.
When I've lost dogs, I put myself fully and immediately into digging the grave... which is not a minor prospect considering that most of my dogs have weighed in upwards of 80 lbs. I make it deep and square with great care to ensure that it's large enough and that the final "bed" is nice and flat.
I guess it's a last act of love kind of thing... I don't know... but it's physically hard work that, after a bit, takes over my body and my mind and dulls everything else. Just the shovel grating through the dirt. Kick it down deeper. Sling load after load into a neat pile, ready for redistribution when the remains are settled. I think it exorcises that first rush of loss, self-pity, and despair. The grief is still there when I'm done, but it seems more manageable.
Grieving takes time, and sometimes busy-ness in the near term helps. I miss Harlequin/Missy for you and with you. A cat can be such a soft presence, but felt largely in her absence. 💕🐈⬛
Pets touch our souls and hearts, making us uniquely human. Your story brought tears to my eyes as my grief at losing my beloved cat, Max came back. He found our farm as a sickly, small kitten. He won our hearts and ruled the house. Unfortunately he never got totally over his rough life as a kitten and was on a roller coaster of health & sickness for most of his life. Like Harlequin, Max slept curled up at my side, his raspy breathing keeping me company in the night. Over time the sadness of loss lessens but never truly leaves.
I feel ya, dude. I lost my first chicken this weekend, and it’s not the same, of course, as chickens aren’t pets, but Fudge Pie was the runt, and I’d saved her once when she flipped out of the brooder and went comatose, reviving in my warm touch and insistence that she drink the garlic/honey/vinegar water I dunked her beak into as medicinal. This time she slipped out of the safety of her enclosure and was taken down by a hawk. I deep-cleaned the whole house this weekend, in between bouts of crying and chiding myself for mourning a chicken... who would rush up when I visited and liked to roost in my palm.
Relatable.
When I've lost dogs, I put myself fully and immediately into digging the grave... which is not a minor prospect considering that most of my dogs have weighed in upwards of 80 lbs. I make it deep and square with great care to ensure that it's large enough and that the final "bed" is nice and flat.
I guess it's a last act of love kind of thing... I don't know... but it's physically hard work that, after a bit, takes over my body and my mind and dulls everything else. Just the shovel grating through the dirt. Kick it down deeper. Sling load after load into a neat pile, ready for redistribution when the remains are settled. I think it exorcises that first rush of loss, self-pity, and despair. The grief is still there when I'm done, but it seems more manageable.
I hope your event did the same for you.
Grieving takes time, and sometimes busy-ness in the near term helps. I miss Harlequin/Missy for you and with you. A cat can be such a soft presence, but felt largely in her absence. 💕🐈⬛
The lingering sadness never goes away. It just modifies. I still cry over my wonderful dog from 20 years ago.
Pets touch our souls and hearts, making us uniquely human. Your story brought tears to my eyes as my grief at losing my beloved cat, Max came back. He found our farm as a sickly, small kitten. He won our hearts and ruled the house. Unfortunately he never got totally over his rough life as a kitten and was on a roller coaster of health & sickness for most of his life. Like Harlequin, Max slept curled up at my side, his raspy breathing keeping me company in the night. Over time the sadness of loss lessens but never truly leaves.
Beautiful narrative on grieving that resonates Hank, thanks for sharing.