In 2007, I was scrolling through websites looking at adoptable dogs, a routine I often did with my morning coffee. I was searching for a dog for my mom, checking each day to see who was posted and what might be a good fit for her.
I had looked at hundreds, maybe thousands of dogs that month, waiting to find that perfect little scruffy terrier type, my mom’s favourite.
And then, in the middle of a group of dogs listed at the Sechelt branch of the BC SPCA, I saw Daisy.
She was a pit bull and border collie cross, white with brown brindle patches, a perfect patch over one eye, staring out with her deep brown eyes.
In that split second, I knew she was my dog.
And she was. We brought her home, and to this day, I still believe she was the best dog of all time. I loved her from the first moment.
On the very first day we had her, as I walked her to the pet store to buy a new collar, I cried.
I cried because I knew one day I would no longer have her. It is that sinking feeling that we as pet owners face, knowing their lifespan is a fraction of ours.
That feeling has a name. It is called anticipatory grief. It is the grief we feel before a loss, the kind that shows up while our animals are still here. Sometimes it starts the day we bring them home, when we first realize their years will be fewer than ours. Sometimes it comes with a diagnosis, or the first grey hair, or a slower walk to the door.
Anticipatory grief can feel confusing because nothing has happened yet. You may cry while your dog is asleep beside you. You might catch yourself pulling back, trying not to love quite as fiercely because you are scared of how much it will hurt later. Or you may go the other way, holding on tighter, noticing every small detail, the sound of their sighs, the way their paw rests against you, the look in their eyes, because you know one day those are the things you will miss most.
It can bring up guilt, too. You might feel you are not enjoying the moment enough, or that you are spoiling the time you do have by thinking ahead to the loss. But the truth is, anticipatory grief is part of love. It shows us how much these relationships matter.
There are ways to carry it without letting it steal the time you still have. One is to name it for what it is. Saying to yourself, “This is grief, and it is normal,” takes away some of the confusion. Talking about it helps, too. Share it with people who understand what it means to love and lose an animal. Silence makes grief heavier.
Simple routines can also help. Keep the walks, the games, the snuggles. Make small rituals if you want, like taking photos, writing down favourite memories, or saying out loud what you love about your dog. These things don’t stop the ache, but they give you touchstones to hold on to.
Taking care of yourself matters just as much as caring for your pet. Rest, eat, get outside, breathe. Grief is hard on the body as well as the heart. And when the worry about the future gets too loud, try to ground yourself in the present moment. Notice their fur, their smell, the rhythm of their breathing. These things are alive right now.
Anticipatory grief does not mean you are failing to live in the moment. It means you love deeply enough to already feel the shadow of loss. And as hard as it is, it can also make you appreciate the everyday things more, the wag of a tail, the warmth of a body curled next to yours, the sound of toenails on the floor. Those moments become treasures long before they turn into memories.