Heartbroken after the loss of our young dog

[jpchin]

I am absolutely heartbroken with the loss of our 2-year-old AmStaff Shar Pei cross Bronze 3 weeks ago. I have read through a few of the threads here and have posted a couple of comments, but I wanted to write something more substantial: 1. hoping some kind members of this community might offer some words of comfort (I already rang the Griefline a few days after Bronze passed), 2. Because it might help me by sharing my feelings and 3. Because I really want to share just what a beautiful big boy Bronze was.
At the start of the year my wife and I started looking after our daughter’s pup Bronze after she had to suddenly move cities for work and couldn’t find a pet-friendly lease at short notice. We loved him as our own and were devastated when he passed so suddenly in November. Unbeknownst to us he had swallowed something which damaged his insides and after being full of beans one morning same as any other day, he later did a couple of vomits and while not appearing to be dangerously or violently ill, he clearly wasn’t himself so we booked him into the vet. But there was nothing they could do and we had to make the heartbreaking decision to let Bronze go. From Bronze running around at the park chasing the ball to saying our tearful goodbyes was just over 24 hours.
As well as the shock of losing Bronze so suddenly, I was left questioning how could this happen? We have always been such loving, responsible pet owners. We always avoid things like cooked bones or rawhide treats or sticks because of the risks they pose. But after hearing the experiences of some others here and learning more about what happened to Bronze, I soon accepted there was nothing we could have done. By the time we saw him vomit it was already too late. The vet said it was likely he swallowed something like a rope whole. If he had chewed it into small chunks or nibbled off pieces it likely wouldn’t have been a problem, but swallowing it whole did the damage. Since none of us noticed any missing toy or can even recall something of that description (he had big tug of war ropes but they were still here), it’s possible he just wolfed something down at the park or out on a walk or some long-lost item in a backyard garden in the time before he became ill. Even if I had seen him eat something like that with my own eyes, I probably wouldn’t have grasped the risk. He had previously chewed kennel panels, the canvas cover for his sleep crate and any number of rubber toys and they all just ended up as pellets in his poops. But accepting this as a freakish accident is one thing. Accepting that we won’t get to see Bronze grow into a beautiful old boy is proving much harder.
At first Bronze was a handful, but as we spent more time with him (and invested in training) I absolutely loved watching him grow into an intelligent, obedient big boy who loved running around chasing a ball or contorting his body like an Olympic high diver to catch flavoured bubbles we would blow into the air. I loved his physique, lean and athletic, but with rippling muscle across his chest and legs. If he was human he would have been a 100-metre sprinter or a rugby league star. And as much as he could go a million miles an hour, he was at his beautiful best when he was sleepy and curled up in his crate when he could barely keep his eyes open but the thump of his wagging tail would continue as we enjoyed our goodnight cuddles. I would stroke his head and say: You’re a big boy, but you’re a good boy.
Fiercely protective of our home, he would bark whenever anyone came to the front door or inside the house, but over time he would take our cues that everything was all right. I love the way he looked at me when a tradie walked down the hallway like ”Is he cool?” Yeah Bronzey boy, he’s cool. By Halloween, as dozens and dozens of kids knocked on our door, I barely heard a peep out of Bronze. He was becoming more and more comfortable. He wore a bandana which said: will do tricks for treats. I meant to take a photo of him wearing it but it eventually fell off and the night got late.
And that is just one of the things we’ll never get to experience with Bronze again. He loved bubbles so much that we always wanted to have spare bottles at the ready. Now we have bottles he will never get to enjoy. There are frozen bones and fruit slices in the freezer we will never get to give him.
We have donated some of his bedding and toys to animal charities so they can go to a good cause and we plan on keeping a box of mementos such as his favourite Frisbee and a chew toy which used to stick out of his mouth like a giant cigar. I have a folder of his photos and videos on my phone where he looks so happy and full of life, getting absolutely obsessed with the sprinkler on a hot day, or sitting solemnly on the trampoline while I ask him if he would like to play a game of bubbles. I don’t know if I will ever be able to look at a sprinkler or bubbles without sadness ever again.
I can only imagine what it must be like for parents to lose a toddler or teenager and feel robbed of that precious gift of a long, happy life. I feel so sad that our family won’t get to experience any more adventures with Bronze after watching him blossom into such a great dog. I’m gutted for my wife who is such an amazing Dog Mum and took such care and effort in making him frozen milky treats for hot days and I’m gutted for my daughter who was planning to take Bronze back full-time when she got a new lease next year which would hopefully allow pets. I am grateful she had been home visiting for a couple of weeks and got to spend plenty of time with him at the end.
I lost my childhood dog when he developed a stomach tumour at 12. I lost my dad after a long and devastating terminal illness. But this, losing such a happy, healthy young boy with so much life ahead of him so suddenly has really rocked me in a completely different way. I know with time I will learn to come to terms with this, but right now, it is so hard because I miss him so much. There’s a saying about pets that they are our favourite hello and our hardest goodbye. Bronze has definitely been my hardest goodbye. I’ll always love him and I’ll never forget him.

• This topic was modified 1 month, 1 week ago by jpchin.
• This topic was modified 1 month, 1 week ago by jpchin.

Topic

[VM_RaMack]

Dear JPCHIN, Your stories of Bronze are priceless. Please keep telling them. Bronze comes alive in your words. I too can see him leaping after bubbles, inhaling his food, soaking up cuddles. The line about him looking at you with his “is he cool?” face when tradies came around, really stayed with me. I know you want solace right now, I get it. However, it will hurt for some time. Dogs bring such joy, solidarity and a deep knowing. You will feel Bronze’s loss because you loved him so much. As someone said, you don’t just get over this, its a journey. Pay attention to what feels right for you on that journey. If you want to hold onto the unused bubbles and frozen bones, keep them. If you want to donate them, do that. There are no right or wrong responses. My dog’s waterbowl is still outside – three years after his passing. The birds use it as a bath. I talk to him all the time. As someone else said, there can be some good resources here https://griefline.org.au/resources/losing-a-pet/ and feel free to call 1300 845 745 whenever you feel ready to. Being able to talk about Bronze is so important; it’s part of the journey. Your care and love of your “big beautiful boy” comes through in everything you say. Your connection to him will always be there. If you ever want to talk to someone about him, the joy or the grief please know you can call us at Griefline.

[jpchin]

It’s now been about 6 weeks since Bronze passed and I’m still absolutely heartbroken. I am so thankful and grateful to the kind people who have taken the time to read about Bronze’s story and post words of comfort and sympathy (Most recently, @VM_Lavender and @vmrose33). I come to this page often to re-read them. I know there is no timeline on grief, but I am surprised at just how raw and deep my pain still feels. I guess it’s a sign of the incredible paw print Bronze left on my heart.
The Bondi shooting reminded me that tragedy and heartbreak can strike anyone at any time and I don’t know how it must feel for the people who lost loved ones in such horrific circumstances. I don’t know how I would cope and it made me question my own feelings when others are facing such devastating loss. But Bronze is family and he is worth my tears because he remains an amazing and joyous part of my life. I’ve never come across anyone so happy to simply be alive as Bronze.
Healing has not followed any kind of pattern or timeframe. While I quickly accepted Bronze’s passing as a freak accident and accepted the vet’s reassurance that we did everything right, learning of a friend’s dog who had a similar ordeal (albeit not as severe) left me battling some what ifs. Our friend’s dog also ate something dangerous (albeit smaller) and the surgery, while still incredibly serious, was not as invasive or risky as it would have been for Bronze, who had sustained irreparable damage. Why did Bronze eat it? Why couldn’t he have chewed it and spat it out, or bit it into smaller chunks first? We’ll never know and I need to accept that I guess.
My grief is largely down to two sources: 1) the lost future with Bronze who had so much life ahead of him and 2) the enormous effort my family had made to turn Bronze from something of a wild child into a beautiful, well-mannered dog who could happily and safely go for a stroll through the neighbourhood. I am so proud of the enormous strides Bronze took to become such a great dog and I’m gutted that his journey ended so early and so abruptly.
I constantly search for anything that might give me some solace. So while Bronze was just over 2 and only lived with my wife and I for less than a year, I’ve reasoned that under modern interpretation of dog years, that would have seemed like 7-8 years for him. What a great time he would have had! And while I still have those what ifs, I don’t have any regrets over our time with him. He was such a fun-loving goofball that he always brought a smile to my face (with a huge smile on his own face). He absolutely loved chasing bubbles and seeing him jump in the air like a high diver to catch them in his mouth never failed to make me appreciate what pure joy looked like. I also smiled whenever I saw that he had somehow managed to wrap his favourite tug of war rope around his waist like a hula hoop and trot off to bed with it. I know I smiled watching him sit and squirm waiting for me to say “free” the last time I fed him breakfast before he wolfed it down from his ironically-named slow feeder bowl that just made him eat faster. Hearing him lap up his suppertime milk at warp speed also never failed to bring a smile to my face. I have also come to realise that while I am burning with the sadness of missing him and of the sorrow of him getting deprived of a long life, Bronze didn’t see it that way because he doesn’t know any of that. As far as he was concerned, he just went to sleep swamped with cuddles from the family he loved and who loved him. And that’s a beautiful thought.

[VM_Lavender]

Hi @jpchin, it is so special to read your updates and further reflections of Bronze. He sounded like he was the perfect boy for your family and you all the perfect family for him by not giving up on him and seeing his true sweet nature when others did not. I think it is great that you are using this online community as a space to journey through the grief of losing Bronze and allowing others like myself to remember our special doggos that are no longer with us physically but still in our memories and hearts. Take it easy and we are here listening.

[vmrose33]

Dear @jpchin

Thank you for sharing some more about Bronze. I can hear what a special dog, family member and friend he was; fun-loving, friendly, kind and loyal.

And he was blessed with a very happy home and life filled with much love and care.

I am glad that you are taking some time to cry and accept your tears, to share his story, and to reach out for support.

[jpchin]

Since sharing our family’s heartbreak at losing our beautiful big boy Bronze so suddenly at just 2 years of age, I was extremely grateful to read the replies to my post from the kind and compassionate members of this community. I am still sad beyond words but with the encouragement of some of the comments, I thought I would share some more of Bronze’s story, because by writing about Bronze I feel like I have been able to share why he was so special and ensure that even in some small way, others may have been touched by his life in the way my family has been. And that helps preserve his legacy and his memory.
I can’t deny that Bronze was initially a handful and a dog trainer even suggested there was no shame or failure in giving him away. But I was determined that with love and effort Bronze would become a great dog. And he did not let me down. From that start he became the most lovely dog I could have ever hoped for and I am so proud of him. As an AmStaff-Shar Pei cross, he was a bigger dog than I would have ever thought about, but just through his pure soul and loving nature, he completely changed my mind. After being told we should have Bronze muzzled in public we bought a muzzle and got him to wear it… about three times. It was clear it wasn’t necessary, as despite his largish size, Bronze was a sweet sweet boy at heart and as we exposed him to more experiences he became more comfortable, confident and a great companion. On walks he would love to see other dogs and stop for a lick or a little play. If another dog was on the other side of the road he would whine like a kid who has been deprived of a play date. We would sometimes pass houses with dogs barking at the fence, but Bronze just wasn’t fazed. While he was protective at home, he loved his outings and just wanted to meet new friends.
His face was so expressive – a furrowed brow made him look like he was bewildered, perplexed or deeply troubled by all of the world’s problems. But most of the time he looked so happy he was about to burst with the sheer joy of it all. Whether it was because we had arrived home from work, or it had dawned on him he was going on an outing, or he was having fun playing with bubbles or the sprinkler or chasing a ball (which he would bring back to my feet better than any other dog I’ve ever known), his face radiated pure happiness. Even sitting on the patio captivated by the smoke trails of a mozzie coil at night, he looked blissfully happy. Most of my photos of Bronze show him smiling from ear to ear.
The irony of my sadness is that if I was sad for any other reason and Bronze was still here, I have no doubt he would be licking my tears and cheering me up with the cuddles he would give me every morning. He was too big to get on my lap, but he would try anyway, wrapping his front paws around me in a human-like hug. Watching him lap up his after-dinner milk tray at a furious pace was one of life’s real simple pleasures. And I loved seeing him with his giant football treat ball, figuring out that if he pushed it around with his nose, treats would fall out on the ground.
All creatures are unique, but Bronze was truly one of a kind. I am still gutted for my family that we have been deprived the chance of watching Bronze continue to grow and enchant us with his antics. As the weeks have gone on I still feel the pain of his loss every day. Sometimes he is in my thoughts for hours and on other occasions I might be busy or engrossed in another activity so I momentarily forget that he is gone. And then that realisation hits again like a punch to the guts. I’m torn between wanting another dog exactly like him, a big breed smiling from ear to ear who would share Bronze’s love of sprinklers and bubbles and fetch, but also not wanting to be reminded that however similar another dog might be, they still wouldn’t be Bronze.
I have cried every day since Bronze’s passing. Sometimes just a welling of glistening tears in the eyes, sometimes full-blown sobs. I’m not embarassed to admit that because Bronze is so, so worthy of my tears. After a lot of thinking and soul searching, I have no regrets in my time with Bronze – I put in as much time, effort and love as I could and he repaid our family in absolute spades. I know he felt our love just as we felt his love for us.

[jpchin]

Hi @VM-Aasraa
I hope I have tagged you correctly in this message. I’m still learning how to use this platform. Thank you so much for taking the time to reach out to me with such kind words. I wanted to reply personally to let you know how much I appreciated your message and have read it back (and cried) many many times in the last few days. The same can be said for the messages from other people who reached out to me at this time. I am going to write another update to my post, sharing more about Bronze and how I’m handling his loss, but I wanted to reach out personally to the kind people who reached out to me in a time of such sadness. Thank you for adding your perspective and feeling that Bronze did in fact grow into the beautiful old boy I had hoped for, if not in years, then at least in terms of the growth and strength of our relationship.
Thank you again. I hope you can continue to check in on my post and future updates because I have taken enormous comfort in the knowledge that I have been able to share some of Bronze’s amazing qualities with members of this caring community.

[jpchin]

Hi @VM_Lavender
I hope I have tagged you correctly in this message. I’m still learning how to use this platform. Thank you so much for taking the time to reach out to me with such kind words. I wanted to reply personally to let you know how much I appreciated your message and have read it back (and cried) many many times in the last few days. The same can be said for the messages from other people who reached out to me at this time. I am going to write another update to my post, sharing more about Bronze and how I’m handling his loss, but I wanted to reach out personally to the kind people who reached out to me in a time of such sadness. I empathise with your feeling stowards your border collie and wanting to pat him one more time because I feel like I would give anything to cuddle bronze for one more day.
Thank you again. I hope you can continue to check in on my post and future updates because I have taken enormous comfort in the knowledge that I have been able to share some of Bronze’s amazing qualities with members of this caring community.

[jpchin]

Hi @VM_Pinnacle
I hope I have tagged you correctly in this message. I’m still learning how to use this platform. Thank you so much for taking the time to reach out to me with such kind words. I wanted to reply personally to let you know how much I appreciated your message and have read it back (and cried) many many times in the last few days. The same can be said for the messages from other people who reached out to me at this time. I am going to write another update to my post, sharing more about Bronze and how I’m handling his loss, but I wanted to reach out personally to the kind people who reached out to me in a time of such sadness. Thank you again. I hope you can continue to check in on my post and future updates because I have taken enormous comfort in the knowledge that I have been able to share some of Bronze’s amazing qualities with members of this caring community.

[jpchin]

Hi @vmv_68
I hope I have tagged you correctly in this message. Thank you so much for taking the time to reach out to me with such kind words. I wanted to reply personally to let you know how much I appreciated your message and have read it back (and cried) many many times in the last few days. I am going to write another update to my post, sharing more about Bronze and how I’m handling his loss, but I wanted to reach out personally to the kind people who reached out to me in a time of such sadness.

[vmv_68]

Hi @jpchin,

It was truly an honour to witness this touching homage to the amazing boy Bronze was. Your words so vividly invited us into the day-to-day joys of what it meant to be Bronze’s family, and in a word, it’s heartwarming.

The memories your family shared with him sound incredibly precious, and it makes the loss all the more devastating, especially when it happens so unexpectedly. The shock, and the questioning of whether anything could have been done differently, can surface during the hardest moments of grief.

At the same time, you also expressed a sense of acceptance in saying, “there’s nothing we could have done”. Holding both of those things at once is incredibly human. It’s also so understandable to feel that it’s simply not fair, particularly when we are grieving the loss of a young life.

Feel free to connect with us and seek support via the Griefline forum or via phone call, if your grief needs space.

[Author]

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