We are deeply honoured to share the heartfelt story of one of our clients, Jacqueline, and her journey of healing after the loss of her beloved Ruby. In her journey through grief, she bravely opened up about the pain of pet loss and the difficult experience of pet euthanasia, hoping her words might bring comfort to others walking the same path. Jacqueline reminds us that while this grief is often hidden, filled with guilt, confusion, and even shame, no one should ever feel alone in it. Her story is a gentle light of hope, showing that while the relationship with a beloved pet changes, the love truly never ends. Here’s her story.
It feels like the hardest thing in the world. To say goodbye to an animal friend that you love so much. A friend that puts your life, your happiness, your comfort above their own.
I recently had to say goodbye to my beloved dog, Ruby. I insist on using the words ‘had to’ because I never would have said goodbye otherwise. She was the best dog and such an integral part of my healing journey. Having moved to Australia permanently 13 years ago, she was a key part in my feeling safe and secure in a country that wasn’t my home – yet. It’s only now that I reflect on our years together that I make this important connection. She gave me purpose in a place where I felt like an outsider. She grounded my busy feet. She was the seed that started our beautiful family – my first, although furry, child.
Ruby’s fur was so unique and magnificently designed with so many amazing colours. Every time I walked her, she would get so many sweet compliments. ‘Wow, what a beautiful dog!’ ‘Look at her colours!’ ‘I’ve never seen a dog like that before!’ I secretly wished I could take the credit, that I had some small part in creating this amazingly gorgeous animal. She was like Joseph and his coat of amazing colours – only she was a living gift. She embodied the radiance. In many ways, I was Joseph, and she was my coat. Protecting me, reminding me through the challenges, the overwhelm and the internal chaos, of my purpose and the presence of something greater. With her at the centre, we were a unit. She was there for all the big moments: our wedding, when we welcomed our first daughter, Isabella, and two years later, our second daughter, Emily. Together, we were a family.
A dog is such a special friend. They don’t judge, they simply observe and accept all parts of you. They don’t argue, they soften you and teach you how to go gently. They are always there – when you wake up, when you come home, through all of life’s ups and downs. The unconditional love and devotion of a pet is one of the greatest gifts in the world. But unfortunately, this means that losing this love is one of the hardest experiences you ever ‘have to’ go through.
My husband, Ben, and I always joked that Ruby was my therapy dog – but she actually was. Not trained or official in any capacity, but she was intuitive, she was calm and she could always sense when I needed her with me. She became my safe space – to process feelings, to regulate my emotions, to breathe through the fear. Ruby was a steady companion in my healing journey and supported me in working through past traumas and transforming my pain into hope.
When I was 7 years old, my brother died suddenly and tragically in an accident. Throughout my adult life, grief and panic would manifest themselves each time I experienced another painful loss. This led to an intense panic episode that lasted for 3 days a few years ago. During this time, Ruby was there. Like a loyal soldier, riding the intense waves with me, always by my side. How is it not then terrifying to be in a world without her, knowing that if this happens again, she won’t be there to help me. But in reality, I’m not alone, nowhere near it. I have a beautiful and supportive husband, two amazing daughters who are so kind and caring and wonderful friends who ‘see’ me and who are my ‘true’ people. But she was all of these things, she was the secret agent who knew what was happening, how I was feeling and what to do – all without my needing to say a word. Sniffing her fur would regulate my nervous system, seeing her beside me would make me feel safe, hearing her paws tip tap on the floors in the night would remind me I was always protected. And now, without these reassurances, I feel lost, I feel disconnected, and although I hate to admit it, I feel abandoned. Abandoned by someone who would never, ever abandon me, if they got to choose. In reality, we were the ones that, in the end, had to choose.
I always wanted Ruby to live life to the fullest. I never wanted to see her suffer: to witness the loss of a spirit so bright and alive. Being part cattle dog, she was, even at 13 years old, so playful and full of life. Playing with her favourite foxy toy, running and walking by my side, even on her last day with us.
Leading up to our very tough decision, everyone told me ‘you’ll just know’ but I didn’t feel that way. In emotional discussions with vets over the past year, I was comforted by the care Ruby received and from the support and advice I was given as I navigated her different health challenges. One vet suggested assessing Ruby’s quality of life using her five favourite things; is she playing with toys, eating her food, drinking water, going for walks and eating her treats? If the answer is yes, you still have time. But the day came when we had to make the call, and the answer to all of those things was still yes.
However, her body was telling us, in its own way, it was time. In retrospect, I am thankful we didn’t see her suffering or so sick she couldn’t walk or eat, but it doesn’t make the loss any lighter or the decision any easier. In fact, it can make it so much more complicated, leaving you questioning if they could have made it just one more day. In her own way, Ruby told me it was time – and I listened. I sat with her, I soaked her in and I savoured every bit of her while she was still by my side. It was my turn to be there for her, like she had been there for me for nearly 14 years.
About 4 years ago, a friend of mine made the difficult decision to euthanise her dog, but chose to have it done at home. I had never thought of this before, but it stuck and although I never wanted to imagine that day, I tucked the idea away in my mind for the future. So, when the time came, I knew what I needed to do.
We reached out to a beautiful service that organised to send a vet to our home to support Ruby, and us, through this process. Together, as a family unit, we gently and peacefully farewelled our sweet dog in a way that was so fitting and respectful to who she was and all that she meant to each of us.
Ruby greeted the vet with the same enthusiasm she greeted everyone over the years, and I was still questioning my decision. After discussing with the vet and showing her our concerns for Ruby, she agreed that we were making the right choice. She even shared with me that she had had to make the same decision for her dog only a year before, and just like Ruby, her dog was still ticking all the five favourite things boxes. In this moment, I realised every journey is different. I will always be grateful for the beautiful vet that arrived for us on that day. Ruby’s last moments were calm and so full of love and, in the end, what more could you want for your favourite someone.
After the time had passed, another beautiful human arrived to take Ruby from our home. In those moments and days following, I could almost imagine Ruby had just gone to stay at someone’s house or was away but would come back. But deep in my heart, I knew the truth.
It took a few days for the guilt to subside but in my heart today, I know we made the right decision. It is a horrible thing to have to make choices like this for a loved one. But what I began to realise is that I made this decision out of the purest place of love. I would never have made that choice if I didn’t feel I needed to, for Ruby. I wanted her with me for as long as I could. Over time, I am beginning to understand it was truly a selfless decision, because now I am here without her, which is a choice I never would have made willingly.
When we received the beautiful basket of Ruby’s ashes and keepsakes, it wasn’t reassuring or comforting; it was beautiful but sad because what I remember of her is no longer here in the physical sense. I don’t want a jar with her ashes and a little zip lock bag of her fur; I want my dog. It can be confronting and frustrating to realise this is the new normal, and the reality sets in that they aren’t coming back.
Grief is such a complex and consuming emotion and state to be in. I feel embarrassed to feel as upset as I am – hearing in my mind people saying ‘it’s a dog, not a person.’ We don’t receive bereavement leave for a pet, but we should. I feel like I should get over it quickly and stay over it, that weeks later, I shouldn’t still be sad, crying myself to sleep and having days where I am crying as hard as the day we said goodbye. But thinking these things is not only unhelpful, it’s also unfair to me and Ruby. The bond we shared and the life we lived together was truly special, and because of this, the sadness hits at a whole new level.
I want people to know that if they feel this way too, it’s completely ok to not be ok and to go through the waves of sadness, despair, anger and maybe, one day, acceptance, at your own pace. Weeks later, I still feel broken – it feels unfixable – but in navigating this strange, scary new chapter, I wanted to share my experience in hopes I could help others dealing with the loss of a best friend.
In my journey of healing, I have discovered some things that help ease the pain, soften the sadness and help to clarify the conflicting emotions. I have found reading stories or experiences from other people has been validating, especially from vets or professionals that deal with pet loss. Grief shared is therapeutic and it helps to realise you’re not alone and that what you’re feeling is ‘normal’ and part of the process.
Although difficult to adjust to, I set up Ruby’s beautiful urn with her collar beside my bed to remind me she is always with me. She was my constant companion to wake up to and go to sleep with, so having her near my bed is a comfort. A friend who lost their dog last year suggested snuggling a toy dog to sleep. I have found this helpful, and while it sounds silly and kid-like, it has actually eased the difficulty in sleeping without her. I say, ‘whatever works!’
Ruby was 13 when she passed, and for some reason, this number stood out to me in the days after we said goodbye, so now when I see this number, I take a moment to say hello and believe it’s her reaching out to me in her own way. In the days following, I donated one of her beds, but have kept one outside. I donated her food but kept her dishes. I kept her favourite toy, and it sits in the garage near my shoes. I felt it was important to start the process of removing things that would make me feel sad, but to keep some things that hold special significance. I still have Ruby’s picture on my phone wallpaper, it makes me feel happy. My husband is the opposite, he would rather not see a reminder so often, to each their own.
Respecting your own and others’ choices around grieving is so important. We talk about Ruby often and share stories about her when they come up. In some way, I talk about her every day and this helps me to keep releasing and moving forward, however slowly. Don’t judge yourself for being sad. Being so sad means that you loved something so much and shared something so wonderful with another living being. This is not something to condemn yourself for, it’s something to be proud of.
Another difficult part of grief is allowing yourself to receive- to receive love, to receive support, to receive kindness and compassion. This can be difficult, but it’s so important. With a pet, we receive whole heartedly, so when we no longer have that love, we may want to push others away. But one thing I have learned through this is that being able to receive can be healing and allows us to accept ourselves and our emotions more fluidly. Your people will be the ones to protect and comfort you in this time and this is a beautiful thing.
Another special comfort for me has been reflecting and redefining my perspective around death and what comes after. A friend of mine referred me to an animal medium, and while I know this isn’t for everyone, listening to her and hearing her insights has been really comforting and healing for me.
One thing I really want everyone dealing with pet loss to know is that it’s ok to be sad and to show others your sadness. When we were saying our final goodbye to Ruby, my oldest daughter was struggling. I said to her ‘it’s ok’ and she said ‘no it’s not ok.’ I said ‘no this isn’t ok, but it’s ok to be sad.’
A day later, I sent a message to the vet that helped us and thanked her for all she had done and acknowledged her for doing her best in such a difficult circumstance. She was so humble in her response, but left me surprised when she said I had actually taught her something. She said when I told my daughter it was ok to be sad, this stuck with her. It sounded so simple, and it felt like such a normal response at the time, but what I realise now, especially in those moments where I am judging myself for the way I am grieving, is that it absolutely is ok to be sad and that sadness is not a bad thing.
Sadness is the end of something, but the beginning of something else. It is the movement of emotion to a space of clarity, calm and transformation. Sadness doesn’t last forever. It does come and go. And it teaches us, it strengthens us, and in its place, if we are brave enough to let it bloom, is gratitude. Gratitude for all we had, all we still have and for the endless possibilities of what we are yet to receive, when we are ready and strong enough to embrace it.
Jacqueline Callan is an attuned Reiki practitioner with a deep passion for holistic healing. She incorporates a unique blend of energy work, meditation, intuitive insight and psychological understanding. Through the process of supporting her clients in their journey to emotional balance, self-awareness and inner peace, she helps individuals reconnect with their authentic selves and step into their fullest potential.
