Working on a book about animal grieving a few years ago, I was struck by the sorrowful language people often use when talking about dogs who die. On my Facebook Page this morning, someone wrote about their dogs, saying “no matter how long our dogs live, it is never long enough.”

But wait, I thought, that isn’t true for me. If dogs lived as long as we did, or forever, we would only know one or two in our lives, they would no longer live the lives of dogs, but of humans.

Facebook and other social media pages are filled with mourning and grief, photos and memories of dogs who have died, some years ago. “Sandy, we miss you every day and think of you all the time, we will never stop missing you.” There are countless messages of grief and sorrow all over the Internet and the language of grief when it comes to dogs is almost unrelentingly sorrowful and regretful.

In seems in our world we can only think of death in this one way, as something of great pain and loss, not something tied with life itself.

I often look at these messages and feel detached from them. Perhaps something is wrong with me, perhaps something is missing in me. But I don’t think so. I have plenty of issues, but I love my dogs very much and often think of the ones I have lost – Orson, Izzy, Lenore, Frieda. I had a dream about Lenore the other day.

But I think the difference in my view is that I do not ever think, speak or write sorrowfully about my dogs.

I always smile when I think of them, and feel gratitude for their time with me. They are a joy, not a sorrow, and I will not turn them into a misery because they die. That seems selfish to me, it is about me, not them. I don’t wish to die and cross any multi-colored bridge to see a whole flock of border collies waiting for me to throw balls and find work for them for all eternity. I wish for them to find peace and freedom, not celestial bondage to me.

I do not think dogs ought to live forever, part of their magic and mystery is that they do not live as long as we do, or suffer and decline nearly as much when they go.  And when they die, we can get another, something we can’t do with people.

The animal world in nature would not tolerate such pointless pain and wastefulness as that we inflict on human beings in America as they grow old.

A friend posted a long blog post last year about her German Shorthair, whom she adored, and it was all about how hard it was to put him down, how much she missed him, how devastated she and her husband was by her loss. She said nothing of all the fun, all of the love, all of the companionship had had brought her, there were no happy memories. In remembering him, she seemed to have lost or set aside the joy of having a dog, it was drowned in a sea of sorrow.

I asked her why she had never mentioned all the good days, she said she never thought of it.

For me, having a dog is about joy and love and connection.  They make me a better human, they make me smile, they draw me into life not sorrow. I do not mourn the death of my dogs or ever speak sorrowfully about them, not because there is anything wrong with that – not for me to say – but because I rarely, if ever, feel that way about them. I think speaking sorrowfully about dogs is a habit, not always a genuine emotion for me. I never wanted to get into it.

I don’t speak poorly of my life or of my work, there are enough others happy to do that. Dogs are a gift, and I am grateful for everyone. It seems selfish to me to wish them to stay with me forever, they are spirits, they come when they are needed, they leave when they choose, I am not God, it is not all up to me.

And I do not care to see them live as long as people, to grow as old, to suffer as much, to be as costly and mired. I see them as freer spirits than that, angels who come and go, who touch one soul, then go and touch another.

Love is a gift also. I am grateful for every minute of that. Grief is an individual thing, we each feel it and process it in our own way. I am not writing to tell anyone else what to do, but to try to understand what I feel and why I see these rivers and grief and feel so apart from them. Perhaps I’m just a freak of nature, that has been suggested to me.

No matter how long my dogs are with me, that is enough, and I appreciate it and give thanks for it. And as soon as I can, I start thinking of how soon I can do it again.