I’ve been a psychotherapist for 30 years and even now I sometimes encounter a very surprising second in a session, a second for which no graduate faculty class or textbook may put together me. Last spring, I discovered myself saying a tearful goodbye on Zoom to my affected person’s dying canine.
Trixie (not her actual identify) was an essential companion for my affected person and we talked about her in almost each session. Adopted 13 years in the past from the streets of Puerto Rico, Trixie was a mixture of Dalmatian and Chihuahua. She had a sharp face, pointy ears and lengthy legs, like a really giant Chihuahua.
Although my affected person had made immense progress in our years of labor collectively, she wanted a type of therapeutic that psychotherapy alone couldn’t present. Trixie beloved my affected person nicely, took her for walks each morning and night, gave her a way of which means and objective, and stood by her when others couldn’t or wouldn’t. Unaware of her function as co-therapist, Trixie turned my ally.
Before the pandemic began, I held all of my remedy periods in person. Trixie didn’t attend however I heard lots about her. Trixie injured her paw, Trixie was adjusting to a brand new cat in the home, Trixie modeled for an additional drawing, Trixie appreciated or disliked the latest boyfriend. I handled her like I might any of my sufferers’ essential members of the family, inquiring about her in every of our periods. I may see that she was thriving in my affected person’s care, and over time I noticed the therapeutic advantages of Trixie’s love for my affected person as nicely. They had created a mutually helpful therapeutic loop.
Though I hate to confess it, I don’t take into account myself a “dog person” …
When the pandemic began, we transitioned our meetings to Zoom. For the first time, I could see Trixie, napping in the background or nudging my patient for a head pat. As the pandemic dragged on, most of my practice returned to in-person therapy but this patient lived far enough away that we decided to continue meeting online. As a bonus, Trixie could be there, too.
Trixie had faced a series of medical issues in the time I knew her, but each one had been treatable. So I was surprised one week when my patient told me that Trixie was actively dying. I listened intently as my patient described the thoughtful care she had provided, the visits to the vet, the carefully administered medicine, the extra snuggles. Through heaving sobs, she told me she had decided to pursue ending Trixie’s life peacefully and humanely in order to relieve her suffering. It had been a gut-wrenching yet selflessly loving decision. The arrangements had been made for that evening.
I was so sad for them both and worried about the impending river of grief that could sweep my patient away. Though I hate to admit it, I don’t consider myself a “dog person.” I don’t like all dogs universally, but Trixie had earned a special place in my heart. I was grateful for her steady presence and worried about my patient’s well-being once she was gone. Frankly, Trixie had been important to me, too.
[She] had loved my patient well, taken her for walks every morning and evening …
At the end of our session, I asked if I could take a few minutes to say goodbye. I knew that my words would be important, not only to Trixie but also to my patient. She turned her laptop so that I was face to face with Trixie, our noses just inches apart. Trixie lifted her head when she heard my voice, now familiar to her, and stared straight into the camera. I wanted to gather just the right words.
“You have been such a good dog,” I instructed her, my eyes filling with tears. “We will never forget you, and I promise you that a lot of people, including me, will be taking care of your human.” I believed this was a message all of us wanted to listen to. She appeared into my eyes, sighed her canine sigh, and lay her head again down on the sofa. I hoped she understood.
My affected person has a brand new canine now. Trixie’s successor is a ridiculously cute Shih Tzu who wears two pink barrettes to maintain her hair out of her eyes. Her cheerful demeanor helps soften the sharp edges of grief which have been carved so deeply into my affected person. When I catch a glimpse of her in our periods, I can see that this new canine loves my affected person, too. I feel we’ll work nicely collectively.
