Pets teach us how to love — and how to say goodbye

Edwin Newton

As I patted a furry paw, I struggled for the words “it’ll be all right.”

It’s hard to pronounce words when you’ve got a mouth full of tears.

Dad and I found ourselves in the most predictable of positions the other day — not unlike a few other million animal lovers I’m afraid. 

Mom’s little cat, Lilly, was drowning in pneumonia — breathing heavy and miserable. The medicine not working, it was up to us to do the “right damn thing” — code for taking her to the vet and eventual cat heaven. 

Like any overly sensitive animal lover — I detest such things — but unfortunately, such events have always been a part of the Newton household. 

I’ll always remember my dad walking our beloved collie dog, Princess, over the hill one final time that fall day so long ago. The bounding spring once used to harass rabbits had been replaced by calculated steps and painful teetering from side to side. This time, Princess didn’t come back — only my dad with tears forced down his face.

I pledged then and there never do anything like that. Ever. 

I never kept that vow. 

Why do people put themselves through such things? “We give our hearts for a dog (or cat) to tear,” my dad always quotes. I mean come on — you can’t pick your relatives and even some of your friends — but pet ownership is a voluntary act.

And you know the day you bring that little kitten or puppy home — energy and mischief on ‘roids’ — that things still aren’t going to end well. We all get old. Animals just get there a lot quicker. 

Ironically, our cat — a beautiful grey and white mix we called Lilly — wasn’t even the best cat in our family — much less the known world. She spent the first couple years of her life antagonizing my mom — jumping up on food counters and knocking precious heirlooms off their perches and into dust pans. To be clear, I wasn’t sure my mom didn’t hate that cat.

But in time those insane beasts begin to melt the heart of even the most hardened animal critic. Maybe it’s by simple attrition — a forced curl up in your lap — a jostle with a favorite chew toy. A purr in your ear. They work their way into our hearts even as we stumble over their food bowl or trip on a lounging backside on our way out the door each morning. 

Maybe it’s the purity of a pet’s soul that draws us in. They forgive immediately and love us unconditionally. You’re their whole world. And who doesn’t mind feeling a little like a God?

I’ll always remember my mom — the cat critic — crying in her chair as we took Lilly from her that last day. 

I’d been there before. When we had to euthanize our beloved lab, Holly, a few years ago, the grief seemed unbearable. Burying her with her favorite toys wrapped in her best blanket, I promised never to do it again.  

Yup. I think we went a solid 30 days before my son, Alex, brought his new German Shepard puppy home.

Guess we’ll never learn. But maybe that’s not really the lesson here.

Yes, life is, indeed, full of loss. But not sharing love for fear of being hurt is wrong too. I guess it’s about love and growing together — until fate forces you apart. And just maybe you’re lucky enough to have someone by your side, whispering good things in your ear as you pass on to the next life that awaits.

I guess owning a pet is more like a privilege. There’s something special about heading over that hill, trusting eyes looking up at you on that final walk towards forever. 

 It’s the best part of us as human beings — maybe the best we’ll ever be.

Edwin Newton is a former local newspaper editor and longtime columnist who lives in Parker County with his kids, four dogs and three cats.