April 3, 2023
Yale University recently added a new section to its psychology department devoted entirely to the study of canine cognition. At Yale’s Center for Canine Cognition, games are played with dogs and their responses are measured. They observe how dogs observe various activities, the dogs’ responses to social cues, and dogs’ abilities to make choices. In his article, “Is Your Dog Super Smart?” Yale University scholar, Rafi Letzter, while studying dog cognition, added horses and pigeons to the list of highly intelligent animals.
While researching her book, One Amazing Elephant, Linda Oatman High, discovered and identified five animals that grieve: elephants, monkeys, dolphins, giraffes and last but not least, dogs. Grief we know, is a result of feeling deep love and connection to another being and then losing the object of that love. The deeper the love and connection, the deeper the grief when the connection is lost. Grief, as we all know, is the price of love.
A few years ago, during a very painful time for our family, our beloved Aussiedoodle Pixel was chased onto the two lane highway in front of our house. She was hit by a car and immediately killed. Before we realized she had been hit, my husband and I called for her and thought it very unusual that she wasn’t sitting on the porch or in the barn. She always came immediately when called. An hour before, Pixel had trotted with my horse and I around the 100 acre field of soybeans. I thought she perhaps could have found a dead animal to roll in (favorite pastime) while on our brief trail ride. Continuing to call for her, I mounted Angel and trotted down the perimeter of the field calling, “Pixel! Pixel!” No response. More frantically I called. I whistled and called. No response.
Finally, from across the field I heard a pleading, “Patty! No! Patty!” I turned and saw my husband, head hanging, wracked sobs, stumbling steps, carrying Pixel in his arms. Her head and body were limp. She was dead. Oh the visceral searing pain of that moment as we buried our faces in her fur and pleaded, “No, please no!” So many memories had been marked by her frisbee skills, her mop-head-scruff bouncing as she pranced with me on the trail, kayaking, my son winning first place in a 10k- she got a medal too, companionship on long drives, and protection on early morning runs. We ached. We grieved.
The price of love.
That night was a very long night. I crawled into Angel’s stall and sobbed much of the night. In the very moment when I was most raw, my horse stood over me. She guarded. She hovered. She was empathizing. In that moment, unbeknownst to me, my husband took a picture on his cell phone; amazed at the behavior of my horse while I cried. Her empathy was so visible. My youngest son came from Cincinnati to console me. The oldest son called from Maryland. Friends called when they heard the news. I appreciated their comforting words and am so grateful for the dear ones in my life, and am grateful for my horse that seemed to feel a portion of what I was feeling.
Certainly Pixel’s death was made more profound by other agonizing moments that difficult year. But with the passing of each dog, a chapter of our lives is concluded. It has only been recently that I have gained a new perspective on Pixel’s too-short life. As the passing of a dog ends an era of our lives, Pixel’s death did mark an end to the events of that agonizing year, but more importantly, a new beginning. Month’s later, missing our beloved Pixel, we decided to realize a bucket list dream: we would responsibly breed healthy adorable dogs that would bring as much joy, laughter and comfort that our Pixel brought to us. Doodle Patch Farm was born.
Experiencing a deeper grief, my dear friend lost her husband of 42 years. Their marriage was a four decade long love story. He died suddenly and tragically. For her it was a pain unlike any. The price of great love is greater grief.
My friend is not a “dog person.” In fact, she would say that she wasn’t an “animal person” at all. While visiting our litter of Aussiedoodles with her son (who was getting a puppy), she considered maybe, perhaps, she could get a puppy. She had more time, and loneliness was her shadow. So she got a dog. His name is Titan.
Titan’s days are full of playtime, hugs, food, and love from his favorite human. My friend’s days are filled with letting Titan outside, feeding Titan, walks with Titan, grooming Titan, and being adored by Titan. Their bond is evident when Titan lays at her feet, chin resting on her slippers. He follows her everywhere and has quickly learned to sit, stay, come, sit up, shake hands, and more. He lives to please her while she fills her hours nurturing him. Her days are marked by “Titan Time” when she walks him in the morning, leaves school at noon to feed him, and after school: playtime and dinner. And those little loving chores are repeated day after day. Life has purpose and rhythm.
Of course grief has left its chasm in her heart, but other daily joys have rippled into routines and have grown around the chasm. Loneliness is still a shadow, but the light and love of a dog have blurred its sharp edges.
Animals are empathetic healers. They perform that role in their packs and herds. But when an animal such as a dog or horse trusts a human enough to share that human’s pain, something unique blossoms. That relationship is beyond instinctual and perhaps on some level spiritual. Although inexplicable, it is real.
Our animals have taught us that yes, the price of love is grief, but the gift of shared grief is shared love.
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