Mother in Law: Dealing with the death of a pet

Last Sunday morning it was just Deceptively Angelic Child no. 2 (DALC2) and me at home. We were making biscuits because I’m trying to limit the amount of ultra-processed foods they consume. We were also practising her spellings, which are now words that my NQs definitely, without one shadow of a doubt, would not be able to spell unassisted by Microsoft Word. I was also getting ready to start ironing the uniform, berating myself for somehow neither exercising or resting over the weekend, and wondering whether anyone in the world actually eats two portions of oily fish a week. While DALC2 was mixing the ingredients, I went out to feed Kylo the rabbit.

I should probably have started this with a trigger warning because, Reader, Kylo was not in a good way.

His pal Ren died a few months previously and my dominant emotion at the time was 'great, we are half way to getting our shed back' (and yes that is an emotion) followed by various thoughts and Pinterest searches about French-style lavender drying rooms, maybe with a rocking chair and some artily-stacked pots.

But this was different. We found Ren dead. Kylo was not yet dead and I was home alone with Kylo’s young owner. I sprung into action. I shouted to the young owner who brought out a bag of sugar so that I could feed him sugar water. I did this for about ten minutes before Googling and discovering you should not do this. Whatevs. His legs started twitching and I gained some hope.

I very gently picked him up and brought him indoors, much to the delight of the Enormous Puppy who has been seeking a play date with Kylo and Ren for years now. How we got past her and to the safety of the living room without Kylo dying of a heart attack I do not know. Unfortunately DALC2 left the bag of sugar in reach of the Enormous Puppy, though, so within a couple of minutes I had a very sticky kitchen and an even bouncier dog. 'COME HOME QUICKLY,' I text my husband and DALC1.

They were not quick. They were slow. Kylo improved slightly which led to further turmoil on my part over whether I was prolonging his agony or not with my home remedies and hot water bottle. DALC2 had withdrawn to the strange and empty comfort of scrolling YouTube Shorts, curled in a ball on the sofa with her back to us, wiping her eyes occasionally with a sleeve.

Eventually the other two got home and I fell, sobbing, into my husband’s arms which I sensed was surprising for him. He knew I had my eye on the shed.

'He’s dying, though, not dead. That’s what’s hard,' I explained.

'If it’s upsetting you, put him back in the shed,' he said. I could tell the imminent death in the house was creeping him out a bit.

So, of course, I said 'If I’m dying, and it is upsetting you, will you put ME in the shed?'

I saw him look wistfully back at the front door and the world beyond it.

We agreed to put him in the other room so we didn’t have to spend the day watching him die. Which, of course, he did just before bedtime (but we managed not to tell DALC2 until the morning).

Why am I telling you all this?

The practical advice is don’t get pets that live in the garden unless they perform some sort of useful function like laying eggs. They are pointless. If you know of a young child feeding and watering a rabbit every day, and cleaning it out once a week, through all seasons and throughout the rabbit’s whole life, well, I’m assuring you now that child is not normal. 

The deeper advice is, if like me (when you aren’t thinking about French potting sheds whilst making biscuits and trying to remember if you’ve ordered school dinners) you are constantly feeling guilty, having a small pet in the garden will just add to this guilt. When everyone wants a piece of you, don’t add a rat or a chinchilla to the list. It’s madness. If your child is constantly being nagged to tend to the pet, they are going to spend their life feeling guilty too.

And finally, just to come back to this old chestnut bereavement. Death and dying are part of life. Doom scrolling or being creeped out are not great responses. I feel really strongly that we need to talk more openly about dying to our children for them to grow up having appropriate and emotionally intelligent reactions, and this does usually start with pets. Seems like I need to talk to my husband too.

Some facts and identities have been altered in the above article