Dear reader, listener,
Thank you for tuning into this story. While this is primarily a travel platform, I also like to share personal stories with you, in the hopes it will help us connect and make us feel less alone in whatever it is we are experiencing.
Whilst I’m writing this one to you, I find myself deep in grief. If you’ve read my previous article about my german shorthaired pointer Quinta, you’ll know that she was unexpectedly diagnosed with a rare form of pancreatic cancer in spring 2024. To my great sorrow, this condition has proved fatal just seven months later. The tumor started blocking her digestive tract, causing an incurable inflammation in her pancreas that expressed itself shortly but too heavily.
As my vet told me the day we brought her in: “sometimes love means letting go”.
A Short Backstory
Quinta was my second shorthaired pointer dog. I grew up begging my parents for a dog and at the age of 13 they eventually gave in and enriched my life with my first dog Fangia, and Quinta, 9 years later. .
These two were more than pets for me—they were the Abu to my Aladdin, the Donkey to my Shrek, the Luigi to my Mario.
Quinta, especially, became my anchor during my mental illness and recovery period. Though she wasn’t a guide dog, she guided me in her own way—offering structure, safety, and serenity. Qualities that seem deceivingly simple until we ask ourselves how many humans truly provide the same in such a consistent manner.
Grief & Loneliness
I’ll admit that I underestimated how much her loss would affect me. Living with a progressive eye disease, I’m no stranger to loss, yet this grief manifests itself very differently, partly because I lost Quinta almost overnight. The first 3 weeks after she passed were devoted almost entirely to processing that shock alone.
I was prepared to feel sad and miss her, but not so much for the loneliness I’m currently also experiencing. Coming home feels so much emptier without her. My family used to lovingly call her “my shadow”—wherever I was, she was too. Our bond ran so deep that my intuition about her health was always spot-on. Even before it was confirmed, I knew in my gut something was wrong, despite the first vet assuring me it was something minor.
Special Bond
What I cherished most about Quinta was her unconditional acceptance. She had this unique capacity to make me feel good and worthy, exactly as I was, including during the lowest periods of my mental illness. Being around Quinta there was never pressure to perform or pretend. Because I couldn’t have much contact with friends at that time, we walked and played endlessly together, filling me with pure and uncomplicated joy.
If you’ve ever had a special relationship with a pet yourself, you’ll probably understand when I say that it is a kind of love that effortlessly glides into every tiny corner of your soul. A love that many people who haven’t had pets underestimate, just like the impact of their death. I think it is a grief that deserves more recognition, both in private and professional spaces.
Grief has no timeline, no rulebook, no right or wrong way, whether it concerns a human or another animal.
A Worthy Goodbye
Something that has helped me a lot in my grieving process is knowing that I gave Quinta a worthy goodbye. My family and I were fortunate that our vet agreed to come to my parents’ home to perform the euthanasia. Quinta passed away peacefully, her head resting on my lap, enabling me to thank her—countless times—for everything she had done for me.
Afterwards, we moved her to a cooler area where her body rested for 24 hours before being taken to the farm for cremation. Initially, I worried that seeing and touching her body would be too painful, but it brought me unexpected peace and closure.
I surrounded her with candles, her favorite toys, and her ball. I read to her, played her songs, and honored her in every way that felt right.
For the cremation ceremony, I brought five red flowers—a nod to her name, Quinta, which means “fifth” in Spanish, as she was the fifth child in our family (my two brothers, me and the 2 dogs). Leaving her body at the crematorium was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do. It felt like I was abandoning her, though deep down, I knew she’d return to me in a different form.
A week later, she did. Around my neck now hangs a necklace shaped like an infinity symbol, holding part of her ashes. The rest are kept in a red urn decorated with golden paw prints. Her spirit, of course, lives on forever in my heart.
If you’ve lost a pet, I encourage you to hold a ceremony or funeral, no matter what others think. Animals deserve as much love in their passing as they gave us in their lives.
Supporting Each Other
From my heart to yours, thank you again for taking the time to read this story. If you’d like to share your own experience, feel free to reach out through my social media or leave a comment.
Let me close with this:
“Most of us have been told angels have wings; some of us have learned they have paws.”
Quinta – dankjewel, thank you, gracias.
