I write a lot about our emotional connections with animals, our unique ways of loving them, living with them, grieving for them when they die. A life with animals is, by necessity, a life of change and grief and loss, they do not live as long as we do, and so many things can end their lives.

How I handle this emotional roller coaster tells me much about myself, including how I handle life, loss and death. Since everything I love will die one day, and I will follow them, this is important. Animals are a barometer of our emotions, they can either teach us how to deal with life or cause us great and continuing pain and suffering.

I have never said my grief is so intense that I cannot get another dog, I say I must get another dog as soon as is healthy so I can love another one again. I never mark the anniversaries of their death or look to social media for sympathy and comfort. I look forward, I feel grateful.

As always, I speak only for myself. Grief and love are personal things, everyone is different and has the right to be different. I don’t look to be agreed with or disagreed with, I have my way, you are entitled to your way. I never assume my way is the best way for everyone. And my way is somewhat personal, I need to comfort myself.

I try to think for myself, I am not seeking the approval of others, I’m not running for mayor. I don’t need to go on Facebook and give the world updates on loss, I don’t to pass my sadness along to others.

Every time one of my animal (or our animals) dies – or leaves, as was the case of Chloe last weekend, this subject comes up, people react in so many different ways, ranging from kind empathy to grief and anger. I think it’s a valuable subject to write about, I am, I know, different from many, and I respect the differences.

Every morning, when I go out to the pasture, I offer a kind of prayer of gratitude for the animals in my life, for the love and comfort they have given  me, for the ways they have made me a better human, for the patience and acceptance they have taught me, for the growth and change they have inspired in me.

When I think of Orson, I do not think of losing him, but of having him. I do not think of mourning him, but of my gratitude for him. He came into my life at a  critical time, and inspired me to come to run to the mountain and give rebirth to my life. (Some people – lots of people – jeer at this and say, well, you repaid him by killing him after he bit three people, including a child. Yes, I did, and I would do it again in a minute. My life with animals is not about hurting people, and I hope I never abide it, or call it love.)

Lenore, my sweet black Lab kept love alive for me when I had no love, she showed me what I was looking for, a gift of incalculable value. I am thankful for her. She kept me from closing up and showed me the way to the real thing. I left my tears on the veterinarian’s floor.

Frieda, the Helldog, brought me and Maria together. She showed me how to help Maria to trust me when she trusted no man. She taught me the power of life and patience, and the measure of love. When I think of her, I give thanks to her.

Rose, my great border collie watched my back when I first came to Bedlam Farm. She saved my life more than once, got  me up when I fell, kept angry rams away from me, stared down coyotes coming for lambs, gather the sheep in awful storms, was by my side every fraught and difficult minute. Her death was the greatest loss for me, I am nothing but grateful for her, I hope she is chasing sheep in dog heaven, not waiting for me at some multi-colored bridge. I don’t wish such a narrow life for her, she is entitled to freedom.

Elvis, my swiss  steer, taught me how to communicate with animals, he also showed me the importance of responsibility. I had no business having 3,000 pound steer, he was not a pet and could never be a pet. Sometimes you love by letting go.

This morning, I thought about Chloe, our pony. I miss her spirited self and her morning kiss to me. I miss taking her photograph. I also know that Bedlam Farm will be much easier to manage now. Less mud and manure, less hay to buy, less need for rotational grazing, more time with the donkeys, who always had to get out of her way, less danger for Red, who she stomped more than once. Less guilt and pressure for Maria, who simply didn’t have enough time for her.

Is this cold and callous, or is it just honest? Chloe is in a great place, so are we, she taught us much about horses and responsibility, I am grateful for her, not sad for her.

Every time I look on Facebook, which is not very often any more, I see a river of grief and grieving and lament. For dogs and cats who are sick, dying, or gone. I think the most common phrase on FB is “sorry for your loss,” and I am estranged from this, since I only write about what I love about my animals, not about how sad I am about them. When I read this passages of lament, I always want to say, “but wasn’t there anything good about the dog to remember? Anything to celebrate?”

Death is a part of life, I accept one, I get the other. That’s the deal, the non-negotiable contract. I let their spirits go, and refresh mine by loving another. Either something is broken in me, or something is found. Not up for me to say.

Grief is healthy, grief is important, we all must confront it in our own way. Grief is not a choice, but a process, and no one call tell me or you how to do it. My idea is this: I confront grief with gratitude, every time, with a renewed commitment to the life I have and the animals I can live with.

I thank you, dear animals, for the many gifts you have given me, the smiles, love and connection, the photos, writing and books. I am overwhelmed with gratitude for your presence in my life, and the things you have taught me about life and connection. Every time, you have made me a better human being.