When a pet dies, your world can tilt on its axis. You may find yourself reaching out with your foot at night for a familiar warm body that isn’t there, listening for a collar jingle that has gone quiet, or instinctively saving a piece of chicken for a bowl that will stay empty. In the middle of that private earthquake, other people’s reactions matter more than they know. A single comment like “it was only a dog” or “you can just get another cat” can land like a slap at a moment when you already feel raw.
If you’ve heard those words, or seen someone roll their eyes when you talk about your loss, you are not overreacting. You are running into something many people face after pet loss: the gap between how deeply you loved your animal and how seriously other people think that love “should” count. This article is for the days when you feel alone in that gap, when you start to question your own grief because others don’t seem to understand it.
Why “Only a Dog” Hurts So Much
In the United States and many other countries, pets aren’t “just animals” anymore. They sleep on our beds, move with us from city to city, show up in our holiday photos, and stay by our side through breakups, illnesses, and long quiet evenings on the couch. Surveys from organizations like the American Veterinary Medical Association and other pet-industry groups show that a large majority of pet owners consider their animals family members, not possessions or property. When a family member dies, it is normal to grieve.
But our culture has been slow to catch up with that reality. Many grief rituals, work policies, and social scripts are still built around human loss only. There are sympathy cards for the death of a spouse or parent, but fewer for pets. There are bereavement days at work for certain relatives, but almost never for an animal death. That mismatch creates what psychologists sometimes call “disenfranchised grief”—real grief that society does not fully acknowledge.
When someone says, “it was only a dog,” they are not just making an offhand comment. They are quietly sending a message: “This loss doesn’t count as much as you think it does.” That message can intensify your pain. Grief already carries loneliness; being told you are “too upset” over a pet adds shame and self-doubt on top. You may catch yourself wondering if you are being dramatic, if you should be “over it” by now, or if you should stop talking about your feelings altogether.
You deserve better than that. Your relationship with your pet was built over years of routine, joy, and shared daily life. It is reasonable that losing that relationship hurts as much as, and sometimes more than, other kinds of bereavement. Guides like Pet Loss Grief vs. Human Loss: Why the Pain Can Feel the Same from the Funeral.com Journal offer a deeper look at why pet grief can mirror other major losses and why your reaction is not “too much.”
Recognizing Invalidation When You See It
Not everyone who minimizes your grief is trying to be cruel. Sometimes, people truly don’t know what to say and fall back on clumsy clichés. Other times, they have never had a deep bond with an animal and genuinely cannot imagine what you are feeling. They may try to “cheer you up” with comments like “at least he didn’t suffer” or “you’ll get another one,” not realizing that what you need most right now is acknowledgment, not a silver lining.
Invalidation can be obvious, like laughter or eye-rolling when you mention your dog’s urn or the ceremony you held in your yard. It can also be subtle: a rapid subject change when you mention your cat’s name, a coworker who says, “you’re still upset about that?” weeks later, or family members who call your pet “it” instead of using his or her name. These small signals add up. You may start editing yourself, downplaying your grief in front of others, or only crying when you are alone.
It may help to remember that their reaction says more about their limitations than about your love. People who have never depended on an animal for comfort might assume that “real grief” is reserved for human relationships. They may truly believe that losing a pet is a minor life event compared to a divorce or a parent’s death. That belief is inaccurate, but it is common enough that many pet owners run into it, especially at work or in more formal settings. The Funeral.com Journal article Going Back to Work After a Death or Pet Loss offers practical ideas for navigating workplaces where your grief may not be fully understood.
Setting Boundaries Around Your Pet Grief
When others don’t understand, it can be tempting to force them to see how much you are hurting. You might find yourself over-explaining, sharing every detail of your pet’s illness or last day in the hope that they will finally “get it.” Unfortunately, that doesn’t always work. If someone is emotionally closed off or deeply uncomfortable with grief in general, more information may only make them pull away further.
Instead, you are allowed to protect yourself. Boundaries in grief are not about punishing others; they are about creating a safer space for your healing. A boundary might sound like, “I know not everyone reacts to pet loss the same way, but this is a big loss for me. If you can’t talk about it kindly, I’d rather not talk about it at all,” or, “I’m still really missing Luna. I’m not ready for jokes about replacing her yet.” You are not asking for permission to grieve; you are simply setting terms for how others interact with you about it.
Some people will rise to the occasion when you speak plainly. Others will not. Either way, you have given yourself clarity. When someone repeatedly dismisses your grief after you’ve explained how it affects you, that is useful information about how much emotional access they should have to your inner world right now. It may mean sharing only surface-level updates with that person and saving deeper conversations for those who have shown they can offer empathy.
If you struggle with boundaries, it might help to read or revisit resources focused on communication, like How to Talk About Pet Loss With People Who Don’t Get It. That piece explores specific phrases, gentle scripts, and mindset shifts that can make it easier to advocate for your needs without feeling guilty.
Choosing Who Gets to Hear Your Story
One of the quiet powers you still hold in grief is choice: you decide who gets to hear your story in detail and who does not. Not everyone in your life has earned the right to hear about your dog’s last day at the vet or the guilt you may feel about choosing euthanasia. You can keep those tender parts of the story for people who show they can honor them well.
That might look like keeping conversations with certain relatives very brief: “Yes, I’m still sad, but I’m taking things day by day,” and then changing the topic. With trusted friends, a support group, or a therapist, you might share the whole arc: how you first met your pet, the rituals you shared, the decision-making around medical care, the strange quiet of the house now. The Funeral.com Journal article Talking About Pet Loss in Therapy: What to Expect and How It Can Help walks through what it looks like to bring these stories into a counseling setting, where validation and practical tools can sit side by side.
Online communities can also offer relief, especially when you feel like the only one in your offline life who sees pets as family. Many people find comfort in moderated pet loss forums, social media groups focused on grief, or comment sections on articles that speak directly to their experience. Reading other people’s stories can help you remember that your love isn’t unusual or excessive. You are part of a quiet, global community of people who have had to say goodbye to animals that meant everything to them.
When Rituals Help More Than Explanations
When words with other people keep falling short, actions and rituals can offer a different kind of support. You may not be able to make your coworker understand why your chest still aches when you walk in the door and don’t see a wagging tail. But you can create a small memorial that makes sense to you, even if others never quite “get it.”
For some, that looks like a framed photo on the bedside table, a collar draped lovingly over a doorknob, or a favorite toy tucked into a memory box. For others, it might involve choosing a dedicated resting place, like a small urn on a shelf, a paw-print stone in the garden, or a piece of cremation jewelry that holds a tiny portion of ashes close to the heart. Collections such as Pet Cremation Urns for Ashes, Pet Figurine Cremation Urns for Ashes, Pet Keepsake Cremation Urns for Ashes, and Pet Cremation Jewelry at Funeral.com show the many ways families quietly keep pets present in their homes and daily lives.
These objects are not about “holding on too long.” They are about allowing your grief to have a physical shape in the world. A small urn or pendant can become a focal point for your love, especially when other people dismiss that love as trivial. You might find yourself talking to the urn in the evening, touching a pendant during stressful moments, or lighting a candle by a photo on days that feel especially heavy. Those gestures are normal, healthy ways of continuing the bond you had with your pet.
If you’re curious about how cremation urns, pet urns, and wearable memorials fit into grief and remembrance, the guide Cremation Urns, Pet Urns, and Cremation Jewelry: A Gentle Guide to Keeping Ashes Close offers an overview written in the same compassionate, practical tone you’ll find here.
Validating Your Grief When Others Don’t
One of the hardest parts of being surrounded by people who don’t understand pet grief is that, over time, you might start to question your own reality. You might hear other people’s voices in your head when you cry: “It was only a dog.” “You should be over this by now.” “Are you seriously still upset?” This internal echo can prolong your suffering long after the comments themselves have stopped.
Self-validation is the practice of answering those echoes with a kinder truth. Instead of arguing with yourself about whether you have a right to be sad, you tell yourself, “Of course I am sad. I lost someone who was part of my daily life. My grief makes sense.” You remind yourself of what your pet meant to you: the years of companionship, the way they greeted you at the door, the comfort they offered during lonely seasons. You allow your body to feel what it feels—sob, numbness, irritability, fatigue—without adding judgment on top.
Sometimes, self-validation sounds like concrete, spoken sentences: “My grief is valid even if other people don’t understand it.” “Missing my dog this much doesn’t mean I’m weak; it means we had a strong bond.” “Taking time to cry, rest, and remember is not selfish. It is part of healing.” Saying these things out loud, or writing them in a journal, can slowly rewrite the narrative that minimizing comments have left behind.
It can also help to anchor that validation in small, repeatable acts of care. You might choose certain dates—your pet’s adoption day, birthday, or the anniversary of their death—to do something kind in their honor: donate to a rescue, light a candle, visit a favorite walking route, or sit quietly with their photo. Over time, these rituals become proof that your grief is allowed to exist in your life, even if others never fully understand it.
When Extra Support Might Help
For some people, pet loss is one of several griefs layered together. You may be coping not only with your animal’s death but also with old losses that resurface, with changes in your routine, or with questions about what happens after we die. You might notice that your sleep is disrupted for weeks, that you feel hopeless or guilty most of the time, or that you have trouble functioning at work or school.
In those situations, outside support can make a real difference. A counselor, therapist, or faith leader who takes pet grief seriously can offer a space where you don’t have to defend your sadness before you can talk about it. Support groups—both local and online—let you sit with people who nod in recognition instead of surprise when you describe the depth of your pain. Many veterinary clinics also know of pet loss hotlines or groups in their area.
If you ever find yourself feeling that life is no longer worth living or that you would rather not be here without your pet, that’s a sign to reach out immediately to mental health crisis resources in your region. Grief can be intense, and needing help is not a failure; it is a human response to overwhelming pain.
You might also find it grounding to read about the practical side of memorial choices while you process emotions. Articles on Funeral.com about keeping ashes at home, how much cremation costs, or what happens during a water burial ceremony were written for human losses, but the gentle explanations often apply to pet cremation and memorialization as well. Sometimes, having concrete information about urns, scattering, or ceremony options can calm the anxious part of your brain that keeps asking, “What now?”
You Are Not “Too Much” for Loving Deeply
At its core, pet grief is a measure of love. You are mourning not only an animal, but also a daily presence, a history of shared moments, and a unique kind of companionship that many people never experience. When someone says “it was only a dog,” they are revealing the limits of their understanding, not the limits of your bond.
You do not have to convince everyone around you to see your grief the way you do. You can surround yourself with people, resources, and rituals that treat your loss with the tenderness it deserves. You can set boundaries with those who minimize your pain and lean into conversations with those who truly listen. You can tell your story in spaces where it will be honored—whether that is with a close friend, a therapist, an online group, or a quiet corner of your home where a photo and an urn stand witness to how much you cared.
Most of all, you can keep returning to the simple truth that your love was real. The fact that your grief does not fit neatly into other people’s expectations does not make it less valid. In the long run, what matters is not whether everyone around you “gets it,” but whether you give yourself the compassion, time, and respect you would gladly offer to someone else in your position.
