FAQ

One of the most important pieces of advice that we give to parents is to recognize that no matter how small your child's pet was, how children experience grief may be shown in many different ways. Your child views their pet as their best friend and companion.

As adults, it can be difficult for us to relate to this type of relationship with a hermit crab or pet fish, but having empathy towards your child and their feelings of loss are very important. Their feelings needs to be validated.

Emotions are not wrong. It is damaging to a child when told or made to feel their feelings and emotions are wrong or inappropriate, because of the "size" of their pet. This can cause emotional damage and may lead to the inability to properly express themselves emotionally as adults.

The loss of a pet is usually a child's first experience with death. Children will express their grief differently than adults, and each child copes differently. Talk with each child individually based on their emotional ability to understand what is happening. With younger children, expect that their grief will come in waves, and vary in intensity.

Look for signs of grief: Children may not know how to properly express their grief. Look for signs such as not being their normal selves, a lack of interest in things they used to enjoy, or a sudden disinterest in school or other obligations. Do not punish them — recognize these behaviors as grief, not misbehavior.

What you can do:

• Don't rush to say "stop crying" — let them be sad for a while
• Put down your phone, get down to their level, and really listen
• Crying is not weakness — especially for boys. Tell them "it's okay to cry"
• Draw a picture, write a letter, make something with clay — let them say goodbye in their own way
• Plant a flower, place a small stone in the backyard — give them a place to "visit"
• Flushing a fish down the toilet teaches children "this is how we handle life" — that's not the lesson we want to teach

Every child is unique and their way of coping will be different. Be patient. It can take weeks or even months for their sad emotions to pass.

Because they're not just a companion — they're family you share every single day with. You got used to loving them a little more each morning — having them around, playing together, feeling calm the second you saw them. All those small moments stack up into something huge — even if, to someone else, they were “just” a cat or a dog.

Then one day that loud little creature is gone. Your body doesn't know what to do with the quiet. It feels the empty space before your mind even catches up — the house is too still, the spot by the door is empty, nobody's trailing you into the kitchen anymore. Habits don't break that fast.

You don't hear them anymore. You don't see them curled up where they always were. Your hands don't reach for the food bowl, the water bowl, the evening routine. You don't have to untangle whatever they wrecked that day. Everything's so quiet now — like something was pulled right out of you. And then, once your mind catches up, the sadness arrives. That kind of hurt feels like losing a piece of yourself.

It's real. It's not silly. You're not overreacting.

Yes. More than you'd think. People catch them out of the corner of their eye, hear the jingle of the collar, expect them at the door — for weeks, sometimes much longer. Your brain and your heart are just holding onto someone who was always there. You're not losing it. If anything, it's love, refusing to let go all at once. Let it be. There's no right or wrong way to miss them.

I'm so sorry you're carrying that question. Almost everyone who makes that call wonders if they got the timing wrong. Vets will often tell you: a little early is kinder than a day too late. You chose a calm goodbye over a crisis — over watching them scared or in pain. The “what if I'd waited” loop doesn't mean you failed. It means you loved them enough to make the hardest call, so they wouldn't have to hurt. That's not something to feel guilty for.

Only if you could, and only if you wanted to. If you were there, your hand and your voice were the last things they knew — that's a gift. If you couldn't do it, or you left, that's okay too. It doesn't undo the years. One hour doesn't write the story of a whole life together. Be gentle with yourself either way.

Because they didn't live alongside them every day. To them it might be “just a pet.” To you it was a little soul who met you at the door and knew your bad days. You don't owe anyone an explanation for your grief. Their “it's just an animal” doesn't change what you had. The love was real. That's all that counts.

I wish I could give you a date. Grief doesn't work like that. It comes in waves — you might be okay for weeks, then a song or a smell knocks the wind out of you. That doesn't mean you're back at the start. It means they mattered. There's no timeline you're failing to keep up with. Go at your own pace.

Because you can feel it coming. When they're old or sick, your heart often starts grieving before the actual goodbye. It's more common than people say out loud, and it doesn't mean you've given up on them. It just means you're already missing them. So use the time you've got. Sit with them. Tell them you love them while they can still hear it. You don't need a perfect goodbye — you just need to be there, now.

You can't replace a soul. A new cat or dog won't fill their spot — they'll make a new one. The old spot can stay empty for as long as you want. Some people are ready sooner, some aren't, and both are fine. Loving again isn't forgetting. It's just love finding somewhere else to go.

Yes. They knew. They didn't need grand words — they knew your footsteps, your hands, the way you said their name. That was enough. What's left now isn't a sad ending. It's them, in the small stuff: a sunny patch on the floor, a habit you kept, a little pause in your day. You don't have to say it out loud for it to be true. They already knew.