Having recently lost our beloved dog, Latte, to cancer, I’ve found myself grappling with the weight of grief and trying to make sense of the sadness that follows like a shadow. No matter how many tears I’ve exhausted, the sorrow lingers—quiet, persistent, and seemingly without a place to go.
While looking through old photographs from 15 years ago—Latte as a scrappy, curious puppy just old enough for training class—I remembered something the instructor said that has stayed with me. The most important command you can teach your dog, she told us, is “stay.” It can prevent a tragedy in a moment of danger: traffic, an aggressive animal, a toxic morsel hidden in the grass. “Stay” is about protection. About presence.
If I’m honest, Latte’s first learned command was “Can I have a smooch?” to which he usually obliged with a quick lick to the cheek. But “stay” came soon after, and he took it seriously for the rest of his life. That is, until the very end, when I asked him to stay despite a cancer diagnosis, his failing health, and treatments that could no longer help his fragile little body.
The Psychology of Pet Loss
The grief that follows the loss of a pet is often misunderstood or minimized, but psychological research tells us otherwise. According to a study in the Journal of Mental Health Counseling, pet loss can trigger symptoms of acute grief similar to, and sometimes more intense than, the loss of a human companion (Adams, Bonnett, & Meek, 2000). Pets occupy a unique emotional space: They offer unconditional love, constancy, and often a daily sense of purpose and routine.
Research in attachment theory, initially developed by John Bowlby, helps explain this bond. We form secure attachments to our animals, especially when they’re integrated into our lives as family members. When that attachment is broken, the emotional system that has relied on their presence can go into crisis. Grief is not just a feeling—it’s a neurological and psychological response to a perceived loss of safety, connection, and meaning (Bowlby, 1980).
I was moved by how many neighbors came by after Latte passed. They brought food, held space for us, and shared their own stories of pet grief. Many admitted they had mourned their dogs or cats more deeply than a parent or grandparent. There's no hierarchy to grief. The loss of a beloved pet is a loss of love itself—a daily, tactile, soul-enriching love.
Continuing Bonds
We’ve recently welcomed a new little being into our home: Mocha, a fluffy firecracker of a puppy with a willful heart and a surprising amount of mischief. She is nothing like Latte, which is a testament to her own vibrant personality. But Latte is somehow present—his memory, his lessons, his warmth. He’s her invisible big brother, guiding us as we begin to teach Mocha the phrases and commands that shaped Latte's life—and now will shape hers.
(Yes, she already happily gives smooches on request.)
Grief theorists like Robert Neimeyer emphasize the importance of “continuing bonds”—the idea that healing from loss doesn’t mean severing ties, but instead reshaping them (Neimeyer, 2001). Latte didn’t stay physically. But in the ways that matter most, he's still with me. Now a permanent facet of my heart, Latte listens, comforts, and abides. “Stay,” I had pleaded as he took his final breaths. And somehow, beautifully, he has.
