Bideawee Tails from a Volunteer
LIFE GOES ON: Bideawee's Pet Loss Support Group by Florence Scarinci
He was a beautiful cat, a domestic shorthair, a tabby with big yellow-green eyes. My husband found him in the park. He had either gotten lost or been dumped. We advertised but no one ever claimed him. So we added him to our family.
He was unique. He didn't just meow. He buzzed and chirped and purred and even trilled. Because he had a vocabulary we named him Cicero, after the Roman orator. He was a young cat when we found him. The vet thought he was a little over a year old and had been neutered. He was incredibly affectionate, so much so that we used to say Cicero was a "Golden Retriever in a cat suit." He was a persuasive ambassador for his species. If you entered our house not liking cats, you left with a new appreciation for them. He watched baseball games on the couch with my husband, slept curled up in a ball in the bend of my arm at night, and sat next to my dog by the front door watching the world go by. We all loved him.
For thirteen years he gave and received affection. He made us laugh and sometimes, when he spit up hairballs on the newly-shampooed rug, he made us angry. Finally, unintentionally, he made us cry. He started to fail. First he began to have accidents in the living room. Then he started to throw up his breakfast every morning. We took him to the vet who performed every diagnostic test available. We spent a lot of money.
"He could be a young cat. All his values are normal," the vet reported.
The vet suggested, and we tried, changes in the environment, in the litter, in the types and locations of litter boxes, more attention, different toys, etc. Nothing helped. Cicero began to lose weight. The vet ran the tests again with the same results. We spent more money. On paper Cicero was healthy. Still he continued to lose weight and throw up and eliminate in improper places. Then he began to cry.
We knew Cicero's vocalizations. He was in pain. We knew what we had to do. So on December 31, the end of the year and with sorrow in our hearts beyond description, we called the vet and gave Cicero a peaceful end to his sweet life. We took his ashes home and buried him in the backyard under a plaque of St. Francis inscribed: "Bless this beloved pet, whose memory we won't forget."
Then the gnawing guilt began soon after. We didn't do enough to find out what was wrong with Cicero. We should have brought him to a cat specialist, to New York City, to a vet school. We should have spent more money. We let him suffer. We should have put Cicero down sooner. It was these nagging thoughts that brought me to Bideawee's Pet Loss Support Group one Saturday morning in May.
I opened the door and found a group of men and women sitting in a circle. Medea D. Berkman, the facilitator, with credentials and background in group leadership, looked up, and welcomed me. After I had made myself comfortable, she asked that I introduce myself, tell why I was attending the group and asked that everyone introduce himself or herself.
Some people had been there many times. Some were still dealing with their losses. Phil was still angry because he felt his family had advised him to put his Chihuahua, Chica, down too soon. Liz felt that she had not done enough to save her kitty, Gonzo. Her guilt was complicated by the fact that she had recently lost her job, had few prospects for employment in the immediate future, and didn't know where she would have found the money for more vet care. Tony was coping with the choices in veterinary care he made for his parrot.
Mary had not lost a pet yet, but she had an aging bulldog, CH Prime Minister CDX, aka Churchill. Churchill was not just a breed conformation and obedience champion, he was, as Mary described him, the "champion of her heart". He was suffering from kidney failure and cardiac insufficiency. She attended the group for the first time because she wanted to do right by this faithful companion. Mary wanted to know how she would recognize when the time was right to send Churchill gently to Rainbow Bridge. Sy had lost his beloved Cocker Spaniel and expressed the fear that no breeder or rescue group or shelter would let him adopt another dog because of his age.
Some had come through the grieving process but were there to offer support to others. Alicia had lost her dog two years ago and had coped with the grief. Several months ago she adopted a "pound puppy," Sport, who was happily chewing a rawhide at her feet in the center of the room. It was obvious that Sport was fast carving his own niche in her heart. Alicia continued to attend the group because she had made friends there and because she wanted to "pay it forward." Tim had a similar story. When his Siamese cat died, he swore that he would never have another pet. The pain of loss was just too intense. But eventually another cat found him. His daughter had adopted a beautiful calico cat from Bideawee, Patches. Tim's daughter's company relocated and her new apartment did not allow pets. Tim agreed to keep Patches. Tim learned that he could love again and like Alicia came to the group to help others realize that they could, too.
Medea explained that the group was not therapy. It was support. Everyone who wished to talk would be allowed to. There would be no recriminations. Everyone in the group understood that what was being mourned was not "just an animal," but a member of the family. Tears were acceptable. Cliches such as "get over it" or "you can get another one" were discouraged. Sharing was encouraged. Advice was welcomed. A person could attend as frequently as necessary since grief has no timetable. There was no charge.
The group began to address each person's concerns. Medea read from a checklist of questions to help those who had recently put animals down or who were contemplating euthanizing them. Maureen told Sy about a program called "Seniors for Seniors" which pairs older animals with senior citizens. Ray suggested that Sy consider volunteering at a shelter. Perhaps he didn't need the responsibility of a dog anymore but could make a difference in a shelter dog's life. Angela, whose circumstances mirrored Liz's, related her story. An instant bond between the two formed.
Then the group addressed coping mechanisms. As we were engaged in that exchange, the door opened. Jane, whose mixed-breed dog, Buster, suddenly died several weeks before, apologized for being late and then said that she had written two poems to honor Buster. She read them. We wiped the tears from our eyes. She said putting the words on paper had helped.
About an hour into the meeting, the door opened again. In walked Louise with a furball in her arms. "Meet Ophelia," Louise announced. "I got her from Maltese rescue last week. Although I will never forget or stop loving Hamlet, I felt that the time had come for me to share my life with another dog. Isn't she cute? No, she is not Hamlet. No dog will ever be Hamlet. But I am learning who Ophelia is and I am falling in love again."
Time flew by. The group ended at noon. It hardly seemed that two hours had elapsed. I learned that I was not alone and that there were others who understood what I felt because they felt the same way. I began to realize that I had done everything I could have done for Cicero. Liz and Angela exchanged phone numbers. One woman gave me her email address. She encouraged me to contact her if I felt the need to talk. Medea said I was welcome to come back any time and as often as I needed to come.
If you are coping with the loss of a pet, or considering euthanasia for one; if you are second guessing yourself about decisions you made regarding a pet's care; if you are conflicted about getting a new dog or cat and think the animal who recently died could never be replaced; if you feel you never want to love and lose a companion animal again, consider joining the Bideawee Pet Loss Support Group at a location near you. You will find friendly, nonjudgmental people who understand your feelings because they have experienced them.
Manhattan 1st Friday of every month 10 a.m. 212 532-4986
Wantagh 1st and 3rd Saturday of every month 10 a.m. 516 785-4199 ext. 1
Westhampton 3rd Saturday of every month 10 a.m. 631 325-0200
A Therapy Dog at College Teaches Important Lessons
Part 2: ADOPTING AN OLDER DOG: Joys and Challenges
ADOPTING AN OLDER DOG: Joys and Challenges
The Cat Who Changed My Life
The Lonely Cat's Best Friends
Therapy Benefits: What's In It for Me?
