The Pact We Make With Our Animals: The Price of Love is Grief

When I brought my dog Baxter to the vet two weeks ago, I had no idea that I would not be bringing him home again, but three days later, he was in the ICU suffering from complications with a brain tumor we had treated in 2024. We thought we were in the clear. We were not, and this is every pet owner's worst nightmare.

We adopted Baxter in 2017, only a few months after my husband and I were married. He was our first "child." He was an easy dog who didn't bark or want much other than love, cuddles, and playtime.

We don't know much about the year or two of his life before he came to us, but we do know that every time we raised and hand to pet him, he flinched like he was going to be hit and later we would also find out that he had a BB gun pellet lodged in his shoulder. It's clear the first few years of his life were not great.

We had to work hard to gain his trust, but he was wholeheartedly ours once we did.

He was our handsome little gentleman.

When we brought our second dog home (Cherry Bomb) from the shelter, Baxter was on the couch, giving us a very aloof look. She then jumped on the sofa and plopped right down next to him like they'd been together forever, and life went on from there. Cherry would become his shadow and would tenderly groom him by licking his eyes and ears.

She was in love, and Baxter let her rule the house.

When we bring animals into our lives, we make an unspoken pact to love them, knowing that it will end in sadness. The likelihood that we will not outlive them is slim. Their love is pure and untainted because no matter what we do, they love us anyway. We know all of this, and we invite the love with the pain anyway, and no matter how many times you've been through it before (with humans and animals), it's still terrible.

We were lucky that making the final decision to let him go was clear. Not all pet owners know when it's time. Given the fact that his final diagnosis was untreatable and he wasn't eating, could barely stand, and didn't seem to recognize us, we knew what had to be done.

I held him in my arms and put his face to mine, nose to nose; I can still feel his whiskers on my face, and I searched his eyes for some recognition, but I was met with confusion, fear, and longing. I knew in my heart that he didn't want to go, but how do you explain to your dog that there isn't a choice? You've done all you can do.

The doctor sedated him on my lap, and I spent some time with him, telling him how much I loved him and how sorry I was that medicine had not evolved enough to treat his issue, but we had done all we could; it was okay to go.

He was so frail and skinny. I smelled his fur and squeezed him; he seemed so small, and all I wanted was to bring him home, put him on our bed, and let him sleep forever there, but it was impossible. He loved three places: anywhere in the sun, the backseat of our car, and our bed. I hate that the last week and a half of his life was spent in the hospital.

I said my goodbyes, and he was gone.

"The price of love is grief." It sounds corny, but it's true.

This pain won't be the last. Cherry's turn will come, along with my parents and other humans. The hole in my heart feels so big and unbearable, but I know I have to keep my heart big and full for more holes until it looks like Swiss Cheese, because that is the price.

To never love is no way to live.

The house feels empty and strange. Cherry is confused and sits at the door waiting for Baxter to return. How do I explain? The world feels dull, and everything has lost its sparkle. I know things will get lighter, even though they may never feel better, but today, as I write this, it feels so heavy.

Baxter, you were the best boy. I miss you so much. Thank you for letting me be your Mama these last 8 years. You will always be in my heart.