The way to cope with the loss of a dog is to let the grief be as big as it really is, and to stop waiting for it to follow a schedule. Keep one small routine going and write your memories down while they're still sharp. Find at least one person who treats this loss as real, even if that person is a stranger on a support line. There's no fix for losing a dog, but there are ways to carry it that hurt a little less each month.
That's the short answer. The longer one is below, and I'm writing it as someone who has been where you are right now.
I got Oxmo when I was 18. We had just under six years together, from 2017 to 2022, which was not nearly long enough. He was a serious dog. Presidential is the word I always come back to. He didn't beg for treats; he pointed his nose at them and waited for me to catch up. When it was time for a walk, he pawed the door and looked at me like I was late for a meeting. When he died, I went looking for a page like this one, and most of what I found told me to stay busy and remember the good times. Neither helped much. Here's what did.
Let it be as big as it is
The first thing that helps is the hardest one to accept: this is real grief, and it's allowed to be big. A lot of people try to shrink it because they think they're supposed to. It was a dog, the world says, and part of you starts to believe you're overreacting.
You're not. Your dog was there for every ordinary day. They were at the door when you got home and at the foot of the bed at night. Many people who lose a dog find it hurts as much as losing a person, and there's nothing strange about that. A dog is family, and you just lost family.
Grief that you push down doesn't leave. It waits. So when a wave comes, let it come. Cry in the car if that's where it finds you. Say their name out loud in the empty kitchen. Letting it out is tiring, but holding it in all day is more tiring.
Plan in hours, not days
In the early weeks, a whole day is too big to think about. Grief comes in waves: an okay hour, then a bad one that takes your legs out, then another okay hour. Treat yourself like you have the flu. Eat something even if you're not hungry. A shower counts as a win, and so does one short walk.
Don't make big decisions yet, either. You don't need to decide what to do with the bed or the ashes this week, and you don't need to decide whether you'll ever have another dog. If you're still in the first few days, I wrote a separate guide on getting through the first week after losing your dog.
Keep one small routine
Dogs build our days for us. There's the morning trip outside, the walk, dinner and the last trip out before bed. When the dog is gone, those slots stay. The walk hour shows up every day like an appointment with nobody to keep it.
Sitting in that empty slot is brutal. One thing that can help is keeping a piece of the old routine on purpose. If your dog lived for a morning walk, you might still take a short walk at that time, even alone. It hurts, and it also helps, because it gives the grief somewhere to go at a set time instead of all day long.
Pick one thing. Walk the old route, or drive to the park you used to go to together. You don't have to enjoy it. You just have to let it hold some of the weight.
Write the memories down before they fade
In the first weeks, every detail of your dog feels permanent. It isn't. Grief makes your memory foggy, and over time the small things go first, like the sound they made when they stretched or the spot they always picked in the car.
Write them down, even in fragments. A list on your phone is fine. Writing saves the details you'll want in five years, and it moves the grief out of your head and onto a page where you can look at it. This is a big part of why I made The Dog Grief Guide. It has gentle journaling prompts for the things that are hard to say out loud, and a page for your favorite photo of your dog. It's the book I wanted on day two and couldn't find.
Find the people who get it
Some people around you will understand, and some won't. Someone will ask if you're getting another one, or say it was just a dog. You don't have the energy to argue with them right now, so don't. Find the one or two people who lean in when you say your dog's name, and spend your time there.
If nobody in your life gets it, you still have options. Several veterinary schools run free pet loss support lines, staffed by people who understand this kind of grief. There are also pet loss support groups, both in person and online. Talking to a stranger who gets it can feel easier than talking to a friend who doesn't.
Watch out for the guilt
Almost everyone who loses a dog ends up replaying the end. The vet visit you put off, or the sign you think you missed. Guilt shows up early, it's loud, and it's usually wrong.
You made your decisions out of love, with the information you had at the time. You can know that and still feel guilty, and that's normal too. If the guilt has taken over, I wrote a whole post on the "did I do enough?" spiral and how to climb out of it.
Mark the days that matter
There's no funeral for a dog, so a lot of people never get a moment where the loss is marked. You can make one. Light a candle on their birthday, or take their favorite walk on the anniversary of the day they died.
For me, a car ride with the window down is the closest I get to Oxmo. He loved car rides and hikes, and on the hard days I go for one or the other and let myself think about him on purpose. It doesn't fix anything. It does give the grief a place to land.
Give it more time than you think
People will start to hint that you should be over it long before you are. Ignore the hints. For a lot of people, the sharpest part of grieving a dog lasts months, not weeks, and it often comes back around anniversaries or on a random Tuesday for no clear reason. That's not a sign you're stuck. It's what grief looks like when the love was real. I wrote about how long dog grief lasts if you want to know what the timeline looks like for most people.
You'll know it's shifting when you can think about your dog and smile before you cry. That day does come. It just doesn't come on anyone else's schedule.
When to get more help
Grief is not an illness, and most people get through it without professional help. But if weeks go by and you still can't eat, sleep or get through a workday, or if you have any thoughts of harming yourself, please talk to your doctor or a mental health professional. If you're in danger right now, call your local emergency number. Asking for help doesn't mean you're grieving wrong. It means this loss is bigger than one person should carry alone.
Common questions
How do I cope with the loss of a dog?
Let yourself grieve openly instead of pushing it down, and keep one small routine so the day has some shape. Write down your memories while they're fresh, and find at least one person who treats the loss as real. Give yourself more time than the people around you expect.
Is it normal to feel this sad over a dog?
Yes. Many people find that losing a dog hurts as much as losing a person, because the dog was part of every ordinary day. Deep sadness is a sign of a deep bond, not a sign that something is wrong with you.
How long does it take to get over losing a dog?
There's no set timeline. For many people the sharpest grief lasts several months and then softens, but it can come back around anniversaries and on random days. Most people don't get over it so much as learn to carry it.
Should I get another dog right away?
There's no right answer, but it's usually best to avoid big decisions in the first few weeks. Some people are ready in a month and some need years. A new dog won't replace the one you lost, and it doesn't have to.
What should I do with my dog's things?
Nothing, for now, if you're not ready. The bed and the toys can stay where they are until you know what you want. Many people keep one or two items, like a collar or a favorite toy, and pass the rest on later.
Take it one hour at a time. Say their name. Go easy on yourself.
For Oxmo. Always.
If this helped, you might find some company in The Dog Grief Guide, the book and journal I wrote after losing Oxmo, with gentle prompts, honest reflections and space to remember your dog. Join our email list below for quiet, honest letters about grief and the dogs we've loved. Nothing pushy, just company while you find your feet again.
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