15 years, 8 months, 17 days

My best friend, Roy, lived to be 15 years, 8 months, and 17 days old. Everything I read online suggested that miniature poodles had an average lifespan of 12-14 years, and some could live as long as 18 years. I was incredibly fortunate to have known Roy for as long as I did, and our relationship will forever shape me.

Letting him go was one of the most difficult things I've ever had to do. I had him for almost half of my life, and he was such an anchor for me. I know that it was his time, and he was no longer the same Roy I had come to love over the years, but it was still an immensely painful experience. Over the last couple of years, as old age slowly took him away from me, I began to disassociate. It was as if I knew it was coming, so I started to put a barrier between us to make the pain less intense. However, it didn't lessen the pain. Instead, it left me with a sense of regret. I wished I had been more patient when he was whiny during his senile moments and that I had given him all the delicious food and treats instead of his low-fat, gastrointestinal kibble. I've been learning in therapy that some of this guilt is my way of overriding my sadness. If I can focus on blaming myself, then I don't have to grieve.

Roy and his friend Remixx

In the first few days after we put him down, I was desperately searching for podcasts or articles on coping with the grief of losing a pet. I read something about how it can, at times, be more devastating to lose a pet than a family member because they are literally our shadows. The article explained that losing a child or a family member can be devastating, but these family members eventually grow up and do their own thing, while our dog companions are always by our sides. They're so defenseless and dependent on us. I can certainly see that because there is something about losing Roy that hits differently for me. I'm not suggesting it's more painful than losing a beloved human being, but this pet grief has meant I’d have to adjust to not having a regular companion. I would assume he was anxiously attached to me as he would choose to lie on the ground at my feet while I worked over his comfy bed. And he would opt to sit on the bathroom tile while I showered instead of his bed/crate/just about anywhere else less humid. And equally, I was just about as attached to him - he was my lifeline during the pandemic and the many lockdowns as well as through my turbulent 20s.

Roy sleeping on the bed next to my desk as I worked from home

Grief and loss happen to everyone. Despite it being such a universal experience, it always comes as such a surprise to me. This time around, I’ve been working on being present with it. I started reading the book "It's OK That You're Not OK," and it has been very interesting so far. It has led me to reflect on my own experiences with grief, both current and previous, and all the ways I've tried to support others through their grief. The first line of the book states, "The way we deal with grief in our culture is broken," and as I read on, I could really relate. I thought about how awkward many people (including myself) are when talking about death and comforting others as they experience grief. I can't claim to be an expert on grief now, but this book has been helping me let go of the shame I feel about experiencing sadness or having ups and downs in this grieving process.

This experience of losing my best friend wasn't just sadness and pain, though. It allowed me to share a few really beautiful weeks with my partner. She had taken time off from work to recover from a serious bout of burnout, and as a result, she was able to care for baby Roy. I say "baby" because he reverted back to being a newborn in his senior moments. This felt very true, given his cute but unpredictable demeanor, nonstop diaper changes, and frequent cries. Roy's palliative care challenged us in many ways, but it also brought us much closer together. We would regularly go on walks with him, and we ended up getting a chance to talk and really connect because Roy’s pace was much slower towards the end.

During one of Roy’s final weeks, he had gotten out of the house one day and took himself on a walk. This is a picture after we found him and was bringing him back home. He was very unfazed.

When I shared the news of Roy with my friends and family, so many people reached out, sharing cute photos and lovely stories about Roy. It reminded me of how many people were part of our life and just how much of a community we had. I am forever grateful for this. And I am especially grateful for the time I had with my little buddy.