Dawn

Where This Begins

I was the happiest kid alive the day my parents brought home Butch, our little chihuahua. He was everything a child could want in a companion. And then, without warning, without any conversation, without any support at all, Butch disappeared. My parents said he died. That was the entire explanation.

My world collapsed. And life just kept going, as it does, while I quietly found my own ways to cope with the grief that had nowhere to go.

That was the first time I learned that pet grief is treated as if it doesn't fully count. It would not be the last.

Diamond

When I was twenty and navigating one of the loneliest stretches of my life, living alone in a cold basement apartment at seventeen while trying to survive university and work, I got a beautiful Persian cat named Diamond. He was my lifeline in the truest sense of the word.

I eventually married and we moved to Bermuda for work. Diamond, of course, came with us, first class. We were living on a ranch estate of sorts, near stables. A stable hand fell in love with Diamond, asked to visit often. And then one day, Diamond was gone.

There was no way she had escaped on her own. But with no proof, I had only a year-long search: going door to door through the neighbourhood, showing her photograph to everyone I could find. Nothing. I eventually had to accept I had lost her forever.

The grief was crippling. There was no internet then, no support community, no one to talk to. I created my own rituals and routines to stabilize myself, and eventually, slowly, I healed. The day I flew back to Canada, leaving Bermuda behind, the grief of losing Diamond came rushing back, retriggered with the altitude. I had to grieve her all over again from scratch.

I carried the guilt of losing her for a long time. That guilt, and the isolation of carrying it alone, is something I understand intimately.

Lilly

On November 20th, my fifteen-year-old dog Lilly died. I had her for thirteen years. I got her on Christmas Eve during the craziest snowstorm of the year, my friend having found her posted online by people who were desperate to rehome her quickly. When I arrived and saw this underfed, matted, sad mess of a dog, I fell in love instantly. She jumped into my arms without me prompting her. My daughter looked at me and said, "I think she just adopted you."

Lilly went on to live a very charmed life. She was my most faithful companion through some of life's biggest traumas and hardest years. She was my service animal of sorts, my daily source of joy, the steady presence in my darkest times.

She died only weeks after I had left my husband and moved out on my own. I thought I would die right there beside her. The dark sadness and despair consumed me. My lifeline, my source of joy, was gone.

In the weeks that followed, I didn't know how I would cope, or if I would ever fully heal. Once again, I found my way through by creating rituals and routines, by honoring her, by giving my grief somewhere to go. And I made myself a promise: I would find a way to be there for others going through this. To be the companion I wish I had beside me while healing through the grief of my pet's death.

That is why I trained as a Certified Pet Death Doula.

Why I Do This

There will be people who tell you to get over it. That it was just a pet, just an animal. I want to say this as clearly as I can: Ignore those people. Our pets are our people. The grief is real, and you are not too much for feeling it as deeply as you do.

I am here to sit with you while you grieve: to talk, to bear witness, to help you give your grief somewhere to go. Not on a timeline. Not in the way someone else thinks you should. Your pace, your terms.

And maybe, only if and when you are ready, we might one day talk about opening your heart again. There is no pressure and no timeline for that. What matters right now is you: your grief, your pace. I am here for all of it.

Credentials

I hold a Pet Death Grief Specialist Certification and a Pet Death Doula Certification. The training behind both is specific: grief theory and how it applies to companion animal loss, anticipatory grief when a pet is aging or seriously ill, what actually happens during euthanasia and how to prepare for it, how to create meaningful rituals, unrecognized grief and why pet loss so often goes unsupported by the people around you, and how to navigate families where people are not all grieving the same way or at the same pace. Scope-of-practice boundaries, including what a doula is there for and what falls outside that role, are woven throughout.

Scope of Practice

Common Questions

More questions? The full pet grief Q&A page has 50+ answered questions across every stage of loss.