James Thurber once wrote, “If I have any beliefs about immortality, it is that certain dogs I know will go to Heaven, and very few people.” I agree wholeheartedly, though I’d change one thing: it’s not “certain” dogs — it’s all of them.
I wish I didn’t know so much about grief. But to love with a full, open heart, this is the price. This is the price we pay to live a rich and full life.
And yes, I get that dogs have shorter lives than humans, and while I understand it on an intellectual level, that knowledge doesn’t make it feel right. Hell, even if I had another decade with Pete, it wouldn’t have been enough.
Not everyone understands the depth of losing a pet, but those who do — they really do. Recently, I found myself telling someone, “I had a death in the family,” and it was about Pete. If you’ve lost a pet, you know what I mean.
In this post, I want to share five ways Pete, even in his absence, continues to teach me about love, grief, and caring for myself.
1. Recognizing What I Need
A few days ago, while working with a lovely family on a sale at work, I suddenly felt off — lightheaded, out of breath, with my heart racing. I checked my pulse on my Apple Watch: 111. The realization hit me: I was having a panic attack.
After the family left, I took off my glasses I took a deep breath and asked myself, “What do I need right now?” I’m happy and grateful I had that presence to do so. I realized I hadn’t eaten since morning. After eating a sandwich and drinking water, I gradually calmed down. Pete’s care had made me more in tune with my own needs, showing me that I needed to look after myself, too.
2. The Routine Stays with You
The habits of caring for a dog don’t just vanish. The muscle memory simply won’t go away. Every morning for years, the first thing I did was grab Pete’s leash for a walk. Just the other day, out of habit, I reached for that leash after getting dressed after getting out of the shower. only to remember he wasn’t there. Grief came crashing over me, and I ended up on the floor in tears. But in that pain, I recognized the depth of love that routine represented.
3. Compassion in Shared Loss
Shortly after Pete passed, I learned that Kirk Herbstreit, the ESPN college football announcer, lost his senior dog, Ben. After traveling with Kirk for a few years, Ben had become a beloved figure in college football. Almost a cult hero. He was issued media credentials for many games as the “chief happiness officer.” Ben became known for trotting onto the field before games, rolling around on the grass, unfazed by the crowds. Seeing Kirk and his family’s tribute to Ben on TV, I was reminded of how deeply shared grief connects us, even with strangers.
And how freeing it is to openly cry on a train headed to work.
4. Learning to Love Myself
I have tamed my self-hatred demon for the most part. But even then, I doubted whether I had the capacity to love deeply. But Pete showed me love doesn’t need grand gestures. Love can be small things — a smile, a kind word, or sharing a song with someone who might need it. Loving Pete made me realize that I, too, can offer love freely, without expecting anything in return. That’s a lesson I’ll carry with me.
5. Grieving with Purpose
Grief is a reflection of love. I still grieve, still cry. But I’m learning to live with it. One day, one hour, one minute at a time. Pete taught me to take care of myself: eat, breathe, rest, and stay hydrated.
Grief may be painful, but it’s part of the journey. And if there’s one thing Pete taught me, it’s to live each day with love — just like he did.
And to stop and smell the flowers…and the curb…and the tree trunk…and maybe even other things that might not be so appropriate for this piece.
Pete Hall, still my greatest teacher.
