Learning to Breathe Again: Losing Thunder
When Thunder passed away, I remember thinking, surely there’s a group for this? You know, like grief counselling, but for people whose best friend happened to be covered in spots and fur.
So, I mentioned it to my husband, that I might go along to the grief group advertised at the doctor’s surgery.
He said, ABSOLUTELY NOT, “It’s for people who’ve lost a spouse or a child.”
Right. But it’s still grief, isn’t it? And, if we’re being honest, Mrs X went every week and she hated her husband. She told everyone.
Grief is strange like that. It doesn’t care who you’ve lost, it just rearranges the furniture inside your head and dares you to pretend everything’s the same.
People started saying, “You’ve lost weight,” in a worried voice. I guess that’s the silver lining. (I’d been carrying “baby weight” for 14 years and apparently just needed a heartbreak diet.) Spoiler: it’s not worth it.
But what was worth it, what saved me, were the people who showed up.
Friends and family who rallied in those first few days: bringing food, helping care for the puppies, sitting with us when we were just… empty. Total strangers on the internet, people who had lost dogs in similar circumstances, who reached out with messages, advice, supplies, and kindness I’ll never forget.
One woman Zoe, who I’d never met before, arrived at my house almost immediately with everything I needed to care for orphaned puppies. She performed CPR on one tiny pup and stayed with me in that unbearable space when he didn’t make it. I’ll never forget that moment, the humanity.
Thunder had fourteen puppies. Two passed away in the first 24 hours. Without all that advice, support (and Frank, of course), we’d have lost more. Watching Frank step up to feed, clean, and love those babies as her own was nothing short of miraculous.
And then there was our vet practice, the heroes who carried us through the worst day. I’ve heard stories of vets who pull away after a loss, worried about being blamed. Ours did the opposite. They cried with us, held us, and called in the days after to check in, offer advice, and just… be kind. I will never forget that either.
I had a ring made with Thunder’s ashes (thank you, Keepsake Kingdom) something to hold when I needed her close. Her ashes themselves sit on the kitchen counter, I haven’t been able to scatter them yet. Fitting, really, since that’s where she spent so much of her life counter surfing for anything remotely edible.
Some days, the grief still sneaks up like a shadow. But there’s comfort in the small things in the wag of a tail, the smell of wet fur, the thud of paws on the floor. In the chaos of Snickers and her cheeky smile (who is definitely her mother’s daughter).
If you’ve lost a pet, please know this: it’s real grief. It’s valid. It’s love without an ending place.
And even when it feels like you’ll never find your feet again, you will. You’ll still laugh, sometimes at the wrong times. You’ll still love. And one day, you’ll tell stories about them and smile more than you cry.
That’s when you know you’re learning to breathe again.
With love,
Lindsay
and all at Thunder & Friends 🐾
💛 Support If You’re Struggling
Losing a furry friend is heartbreaking — and it’s okay to reach out for help. You’re not alone. Some places to find support:
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Blue Cross Pet Bereavement Service – confidential advice and listening for anyone grieving a pet. https://www.bluecross.org.uk/pet-loss-support
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Your local vet – many offer grief support or can point you to local services.
Remember: tears, tail wags, and memories are all part of keeping your pet’s spirit alive. 🐾