When a Pet Dies: A Teachable Moment

I went to a funeral last month.  Actually, I presided over it. The deceased was Isabelle, our hamster.  Isabelle was our daughter’s first pet. She was special.

We noticed Isabelle was in bad shape the night before and immediately tried to Google some virtual medical consultation. When that seemed to lead nowhere, I called my friend, Dr. Jennifer, the veterinarian. 

She said she had a spare bag of sub Q fluids in her kitchen and then uttered the magic words: “Come on over—I’ll see what I can do.”

It was already past the kids’ bedtime, so I stayed with them and sent Mr. Fancy on his way. Dr. Jennifer had laid out sterile drapes on top of her washer and dryer, pulled out her medical bag, while her faithful husband was ready to assist if necessary. She tried everything she could—to no avail.

The look on my husband’s face when he walked in the door, said it all. “Isabelle didn’t make it,” he said. We both stood there, silent and sad.

“By the way, we owe Dr. Jennifer $13,000,” added Mr. Fancy,  “She said that she would take it in trade.”

When the kids woke up, we had to break the news. Our lovely daughter welled up at the loss of her friend. However, a curious look came across the face of our sweet boy. “Can I see her?” he asked.

I could see his wheels spinning as this budding medical examiner asked eager questions. “Where is her heart? Can I touch her tongue?” 
“Back off, buddy,” I whispered. “Let you sister have some time with her friend.” 

Soon we were all gathered in the back yard. Lovely Daughter had prepared some satin fabric to wrap Isabelle in. Mr. Fancy dug a little hole under our pecan tree. Sweet Boy fashioned two sticks into a little cross. We laid Isabelle into her grave and then all looked at each other, wondering what would happen next. Mr. Fancy had tears in his eyes. Tears were flowing down Lovely Daughter’s cheeks. Sweet Boy just wanted to dig or build or cut something.

I guess it was up to me. I announced that I would say a little prayer. I always feel like Whoopi Goldberg in the movie Sister Act when called upon to pray.

“… and ... yea though I walk through the valley of the shadow of no food ... I will fear no hunger .... give us this day our daily bread, and to the republic for which it stands. By the power invested in me I now pronounce us ready to eat. Amen.”

I cobbled together some such words to comfort my family and to ease Isabelle’s soul. Not to mention ease my own sense of guilt. As “Mother” I take entire responsibility for this tragedy. Any and all family tragedies lie upon my shoulders. I think it was in our marriage vows.

The prayer ended. Shovels were still digging, tears still flowing. I did the only thing I could think of— break out into song. Surprisingly, I somehow knew the lyrics to Amazing Grace and I think I actually did a pretty good job as an unpaid soloist. I will extend an apology nonetheless to any neighbors who happened to be within earshot. 
My kids and I had recently had another chat about death and dying. It happened while we were walking past Cedar Hill Mortuary on Colorado Boulevard.

“What’s a mortuary, Mom?” they asked.

You just never know when these, “circle of life” conversations will push their way into our lives, but it’s always good to use these teachable moments.

Did you even know Eagle Rock has a mortuary? Yes, there it is, tucked in between the and .  We seem to have it all. If you can’t find it in Eagle Rock you probably don’t need it.  Except for office supplies. Why isn’t there a good office supply place in Eagle Rock? 

Anyway, our family is still a little tender from our loss, but we’re moving on. By afternoon, I was chasing my kids through Trader Joe’s with a box of Quinoa in one hand and a bottle of Two Buck Chuck in the other.

“No more samples!” I reminded my voracious children. “They have already banned your dad from the store for pilfering samples.”

Isabelle, Rest in Peace.