On 12th June, my beloved dog Puffle died suddenly and unexpectedly.
I wasn’t sure whether to write about this. Grief is deeply personal, and part of me wondered whether it belonged in a professional blog. But so many of the people I work with are living with loss of one kind or another. If sharing my own experience helps even one person feel less alone in theirs, then it feels worth sharing.
She was nine and a half years old and had been part of my life for almost a decade. Like many people who love animals, I know she was “just a dog” to some. To me, she was my rhythm of everyday.
Puffle wasn’t simply a pet. She was my companion, my shadow and, in many ways, my colleague. Clients knew her as the little therapy dog who greeted them at the door, jumped onto laps uninvited and somehow always knew when someone needed comfort.
Where I was, she was. She wasn’t a part of my life – she was woven into it.
Within a few hours she had been examined by the vet, placed on treatment and I genuinely believed she would recover as did the vet. When the phone rang later that afternoon, I expected an update about collecting her.
Instead, I heard the words no pet owner ever wants to hear.
“She didn’t make it.”
In that moment, it felt as though something had physically torn through me.
The sound that came out of me was not something I consciously created. It was raw grief. A primal response. The kind of pain that bypasses language and goes straight through the body.
As a therapist, I spend much of my working life helping people navigate loss, trauma and life-changing events. Yet sitting with my own grief reminded me that understanding grief intellectually is very different from living through it.
The shock was immediate.
My body shook. I felt dizzy and disconnected. My chest felt tight. My thoughts raced between disbelief and panic.
Part of me knew exactly what was happening. My nervous system had been thrown into survival mode. The other part of me simply wanted my dog back.
What Grief Really Feels Like
Many people know the five stages of grief described by Elisabeth Kübler-Ross, but they were never intended to be experienced in order. My own experience reminded me that grief is much more like waves than steps. Over the first few days I moved between disbelief, fear, sadness, guilt, acceptance—and then back to disbelief again.
One moment I could understand what had happened. The next moment I would catch myself expecting to see Puffle in her basket.
The mind struggles to reconcile a reality that feels impossible.
The Search for Meaning
One of the things I have noticed in myself, and often see in clients, is the desperate need to make sense of what has happened.
I found myself replaying events.
Could I have noticed something sooner?
Did I miss signs she was unwell?
Should I have done something differently?
These questions are part of grief. They are often an attempt to regain a sense of control in a situation where we had none.
As I learned more from the vet, I realised several hidden conditions had combined to create what could only be described as a perfect storm.
Knowing this didn’t remove the sadness.
But it helped soften the guilt.
I realised something important: I did not let her down.
She trusted me completely, and right until the end I was trying to help her.
What Helps Us Move Through Grief?
People often ask me how to get through grief. The reality is that grief cannot be fixed, it has to be felt.
What has helped me over these first few days is not avoiding the pain, but allowing it to move through me.
Writing has helped.
Sharing the story has helped.
Talking to people I trust has helped.
Being held, both emotionally and physically, by someone who loves me has helped.
Walking has helped.
Music has helped.
Above all, I tried not to fight what I was feeling. When the waves came, I slowed my breathing, grounded myself in the present and reminded myself that although the feelings were intense, they were not dangerous.
Love and Loss Exist Together
Grief is the price we pay for love.
The depth of our grief often reflects the depth of our connection.
As painful as this loss feels, I would not trade a single moment of loving Puffle in order to avoid this sadness now. I remember speaking to someone recently who was reluctant to own a dog for the fear of having to bare the grief, and I said what I know to be true.
The sadness exists because the love existed first. If loving deeply means grieving deeply, I would still choose the love every time.
Over the years I have experienced many forms of grief: losing my father, relationships ending, friendships changing and now saying goodbye to Puffle. Every loss has shaped me differently, but each has deepened my capacity for empathy, compassion and connection.
Learning to Live with the Gap
I know from experience, both personal and professional, that grief changes over time.
It doesn’t disappear.
There is no way around grief. There is only through it.
Day by day, breath by breath, we build a life around the space that loss leaves behind.
Puffle may no longer be physically beside me, but the love remains.
Puffle knew she was loved. Beneath all the shock, questions and sadness, that truth remains unchanged. She spent nine and a half years knowing she was at the centre of my world.
And perhaps that is what grief teaches us most of all.
Love does not end when a life ends.
It simply changes form.
Understanding the Neuroscience of Grief
If you’d like to understand why grief feels so overwhelming…
Here’s a fascinating explanation of the neuroscience of grief that helped me understand my own experience.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jg4mQhu8i84
If you are grieving someone or something you have loved, please know that there is no right timetable and no correct way to grieve. Whether your loss happened last week or many years ago, your feelings are valid. Be gentle with yourself. Healing isn’t about forgetting; it’s about learning, slowly and compassionately, to carry both the love and the loss together.
Nothing is new under the sun. I’ll leave with a quote from a poem that has been running around my head. Thanks to AI confirmed it was Tennyson. It appears in his poem In Memoriam A.H.H.. The poem was written following the death of his close friend, Arthur Henry Hallam, who died suddenly at the age of 22.
“I hold it true, whate’er befall;
I feel it, when I sorrow most;
‘Tis better to have loved and lost
Than never to have loved at all.”
Please Email me if you want any help or support on your own journey with grief or loss.
