Let’s Talk About It…
I think one of the hardest parts of losing a pet, outside of the soul-crushing obvious, is watching the other pets in the house try to make sense of it.
And they do know.
I don’t care what anyone says about animals not understanding death, or not grieving or just moving on. That is nonsense people tell themselves because admitting animals feel things on a level that makes a whole lot of humans look emotionally constipated is harder than pretending they don’t.
They know when someone is missing.
They know the sounds are different.
They know the energy is off.
They know the routine is broken.
They know their buddy is not where he is supposed to be.
Cash is gone, and Shelby and Bean know it.
Bean has been through this before. When Buck died years ago, Bean mourned him too, so I have seen this in him before. The wandering. The yowling. The extra need for attention. The way he seems tougher on the outside than what is actually going on inside. Bean is a strong little fur-ball and he is still very much Bean, but he misses his hunting buddy. You can see it. You can hear it. You can feel it.
And Shelby… Lord have mercy.
Shelby is sad.
Not dramatic for attention sad. Not princess being inconvenienced sad. Real sad. Deep sad. The kind that just hangs on her.
She eats, but not like herself. She sleeps more. She sighs even more than usual, which is honestly impressive considering dramatic sighing has always been one of her core talents. She is not doing her zoomies. She still goes outside to bark at the huphalumps by the creek, because apparently the imaginary wild things in the woods still need to be warned, but she does not stay out long. She barks a little, gives up and comes back in.
At bedtime, she waits at the top of the steps and watches for him.
When we pull into the driveway, it feels like she is expecting Cash to get out of the car too.
And if that does not rip your heart right out through your ribcage, I don’t know what will.
Because they are grieving and they cannot even ask the questions out loud.
They cannot ask where he went.
They cannot ask why he is not here.
They cannot ask when he is coming back.
They just wait.
And look.
And listen.
And hurt.
So no, I do not believe for one second that animals are just animals.
And that whole line some people throw around about pets not having souls?
Please.
I think pets are made of something so pure, so honest and so deeply rooted in love that maybe the human word soul is not even big enough for what they are. They love without ego. They stay when we are broken. They forgive bad moods, bad days and all the nonsense we drag around as people. They live in the moment better than we ever will. And when one of their own is gone, they grieve that loss in the only ways they know how.
Shelby is grieving.
Bean is grieving.
We are grieving.
This whole house is grieving.
And I do think, with time, they will settle into a new normal. I do. But it will not be the old normal, because how could it be? Cash was part of the rhythm of this home. He was part of the noise, the comfort, the routine, the chaos, the love. When you lose somebody like that, everybody left behind has to learn how to live around the empty space.
That goes for people.
That goes for pets.
That goes for all of us.
So right now, we love Shelby where she is. We love Bean where he is. We give extra pets, extra reassurance, extra patience and a little extra grace for all the sadness sitting in the corners of this house.
Because grief does not belong only to humans.
It belongs to love.
And if you have ever been loved by a pet, really loved, then you already know they carry something sacred inside them. Call it a soul. Call it heart. Call it spirit. Call it whatever you want.
I just know it is real.
And I know Cash mattered enough to leave a hole in all of us.
That says everything.

XOXO