It’s four weeks since my beloved Bidi died.  I still imagine her poking her nose into my hand as I hold the TV remote control, requiring a pat on the head. I’d love to come home again to two girls pirouetting wildly in formation like they spent the 10 minutes I was away rehearsing their ballet. I long to hear the gentle snoring from each girlie draped over my legs while I sit on the floor with them. I think back fondly to her trying soooo hard to “sit” to get a treat, long after her bum-end stopped working the way she expected.  I miss Bidi’s unbelievably foul gas overpowering the smell of my dinner… oh no, hang on, I don’t miss that.  But I miss her.  She was such a big part of my life for over 11 years, and a remarkable balm to the trauma I experienced with Jack’s illness and death.  Every dog is a good girl or boy, but my Bidiot was the very best of all.  

Of course, I knew she was going to die.  I prepared myself emotionally for the gap that she would leave. I’m no stranger to grief and to help me through, I made sure I had Molly, my spare — if an heir and a spare is good enough for the Royals, it’s good enough for me.    

It was Molly, though, whom I worried about the most. Just as those Corgis couldn’t know the Queen would die, it seemed like Molly couldn’t know she was going to lose her pack mate. 

But Molly is not mourning! She sits up smartly in her carriage as we stroll through Weston, for the first time able to see from her new height.  She sprawls in her various beds, no longer required to wait until Bidi has chosen where she’d like to sleep. She goes with me on road trips, even to a cafe downtown where she got a taste of urban life. She no longer sleeps with one eye open, fearful of Bidi’s large jaws around her neck - again. Yes, Molly is a changed dog. I dare say, she’s kind of enjoying her new life.  

This is not my first time to observe pets in this situation. I had a pair of Siamese cats. Ming and Jasmine were litter mates and had never been apart. They spent much of their time wrapped in one another’s legs atop the cat condo tower, paying very little attention to the humans or even the dogs in the house. When Ming died, I wasn’t sure how Jasmine would cope. She was fine! In fact, she flourished and in a short time, turned her cuddliness towards me instead of her sister. 

I also watched Bidi respond to the death of her mother, Kora.  It was different. She explored the corners of the yard, fruitlessly, for signs of her pack mate. I might posit that’s because Bidi was such an unusual girl, with a depth of emotion unparalleled in other dogs, even humans (eye-rolling may begin now - yes, I loved her deeply), but I actually doubt it.  

So it was with interest I read this month’s National Geographic cover story on the complex emotions of animals. The article explores a number of scientific studies where animals, ranging from the domestic to the wild, and from sea to land to sky, demonstrate a range of seemingly human emotions. Rats free their brethren from confinement but only if they are genetically linked to them or they’ve established a rapport, not if the locked up rat is no way related. Ravens console other ravens who are licking their wounds from bullying episodes. Horses recognize emotion in photos of other horses. Dolphins blow bubbles and them play with them. It’s all pretty cool and makes those of us who routinely anthropomorphize our pets seem slightly less insane.  

But why did Jasmine and now Molly react so little following the death of their loved one? Here I go with more armchair pet psychology -  I think it’s because they experienced their grief before Ming and Bidi died. Both had slow declines, disappearing in some respects before our eyes. Ming lost her appetite for several weeks before she died and spent increasingly amounts of time by herself, sleeping. Bidi was lame for months, less able to fly with reckless abandon around the yard with Molly in tow. It’s similar to the reaction of the dogs in the months leading up to Jack’s death - they behaved differently, more subdued, as they lost him slowly. My theory - that animals suffer anticipatory grief - explains Bidi’s response to her mother too. Kora’s decline was very quick, going from pretty much normal to dead in about a month, giving Bidi no time to get used to the changing landscape, and leading to a bigger shock when Kora didn’t come home from the vet that fateful day. (If you’d like to read some of Bidi’s musings about life, death, and Molly, check out a guest blog column I gave her 18 months ago here. And not to be outdone (although she regularly felt outdone by Bidi), I gave Molly a column too and you can read that here.)

Sudden death vs prolonged illness - I’ve spent a lot of time weighing these in my mind as a human. I’ve been up close with both these, my dad dying of a catastrophic heart attack having never been sick a day in his life and Jack having a three year illness before his MAiD death.  For me, and I think for my pets, it’s easier to have the slow fade-out, to spread the grief out over time. Definitely not ideal for the one dying. The fast death seems the way to go.  But for those left behind, it’s good to have some time to get used to the idea.

Looking forward to your reflections on this in the comments below!  I’ve always wondered - if you’re someone who likes surprises, is it different for you?

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