Companion Animal Memorial Page

The Chinese character for the word ‘bēi’ or grief can be interpreted as ‘the heart with broken wings’.

I have found that there are many variations, including ‘misaligned heart’, ‘a heart weighed down by what is wrong’, ‘the state of the heart when something irreversible occurs’. Bēi describes deep and enduring sorrow.

And that to me is much more meaningful than the succinct Cambridge dictionary definition of grief: “very great sadness, especially at the death of someone”. A verbal attempt at putting a huge emotion into a neat package, to give it a definition, invite a banal platitude and then move on. Making something huge and life-changing into transient emotion.

Bēi has taken over my life in the past few days. This time last week, my little Mrs Bimble appeared to be her usual perky little self. Then she got very poorly very quickly, and did not respond to treatment. As a family, we took the horrid decision that, as she was struggling to breathe and her heart was failing, to ask the vet to give her the level of sedation that would stop her heart. We let her wings fly, leaving her exhausted heart in this world.

We loved her right to the end. We held her and cuddled her and told her how much we love her. Then, as she lay curled up in my arms, she drifted gently and peacefully into the longest sleep.

My heart’s wings have broken. I know they will learn to fly again, just as life goes on. But right now all I feel is a hard lump behind my ribs.

Mrs Bimble (her pen name on here), or to give her the posh name from her papers Altina’s Freya at Craigivar (who comes up with names like this?), and her name at home: Frayzie or FreyFrey came into my life 3 and a bit years ago. Miss Flimp (aka Tilly) blew into our lives on a storm between two lock downs as a much wanted baby pomeranian. Mr B is her chosen human, my purpose in her life seemed to be providing food, for which occasionally she rewarded me with a cuddle. I have to admit, I was jealous.

So when a post by a lady I know who is involved in a Pomeranian rescue group, about a small girl needing a new home, popped into my social media feed, I was particularly receptive. And the picture just captured me. At six years old, ‘Freya’ was not a youngster. And in the photo her little face looked so sad. I reached out and asked about her. I was told that her owners had a lot of dogs, and they felt that they couldn’t look after Freya as she deserved. No health issues reported, no ill treatment, just an older girl in need of someone to love her. To Mr B’s consternation, I arranged to go and see her.

I looked at her and heard a little voice in my head saying “please love me, I will be very good!”

I took her. Mr B was livid. He didn’t speak to me for three days. The kids were shocked to come home from school to a second dog in the house. Tilly prowled around like a small angry feral cat (she is not a cat but acts like one) eyeing Frayzie like the intruder on her patch that she was at that point. Frayzie just sat in the middle of the kitchen looking bereft. Little ears clamped to her head in anxiety. She melted my heart right from the get go.

The first week was tense. Tilly was clearly very angry, and occupied every bed I made for Freya. We reached a compromise with two brand new soft baskets placed at opposite ends of the house. Tilly had first choice of any available lap, especially mine. Frayzie seemed to content herself with feeling safe. She took to sitting a few steps behind me. Tilly gradually reverted to Mr B as her heart human, making space for Frayzie to gradually take up more space, and relax into her new life.

I don’t know much about Frayzie’s past life. I was told she had had two litters of puppies, the second ending in complications and an emergency c-section. I don’t know if this damaged her back, but she had a certain crookedness in her spine, and her back legs weren’t strong enough to jump up the steps from the garden. We got a ramp, the kind that people use to get big dogs into cars, but she wasn’t able to use that, either.

There’s no tracking how dogs put their pawprints very firmly on your heart. It was a couple of months before Frayzie relaxed and let her ears perk up as the norm not the exception. That was when I realised that she felt truly at home. From a timid little creature she blossomed into a “Me, Me, Me!” feisty little Pom, and completely took ownership of my heart.

There will be more to come on my Mrs Bimble over the coming months. Her story needs to be written, as does Miss Flimp’s and my late great Mikmo’s.

It has shaken me to realise that what I thought of at the time as an act of compassion in giving an unloved little being a home kindled an unconditional love that filled our home like a beacon. That is the void that I am feeling right now. A bright light has extinguished, and left my corner of the world a darker place.

I poured some of my anguish into a series of notes on Substack. My only purpose in writing them one was that it was another way of screaming my pain, and maybe a way of being heard. I couldn’t even imagine the huge wave of love and support that has come back in response. I’m truly humbled and bewildered by how many people have taken a few minutes out of their days to read, acknowledge and respond. I feel held in a massive circle of love. I feel very honoured by each individual act of support.

Reading and responding has given me a focus to write and to remember in the silence of the last couple of mornings, that have not been filled by joyful barks, a waggly tail and a smiley little face. I know I am not alone in this journey of bēi (oh how I prefer that word to the coldness of the word ‘grief’).

The succinctness of the dictionary definition of grief reflects the way in which western culture is doesn’t teach us to accept if not embrace the inevitability of death. In my family, there has always been a polite ‘sorry and all that, not sure how to do this’ around bereavement. I’m really proud that both my teenagers voluntarily came with me to be with Mrs Bimble at the end. It was immensely hard for both of them, and both are pleased that they did it.

Mrs Bimble has taught me that it is OK not to be OK, and if anyone else finds that difficult to accept, that is not my doing. I’m trying to teach the kids to talk about death and grieving in a way my family never did. I have more to write on this, so much is making its way into my notebooks, that needs to untangle itself into coherence.

When I went for a walk on Sunday, I heard a little voice in my head “thank you for letting me go Mama. My body was hurting too much”, and then “squee, I can fly” with an image of her doing little somersaults. I really hope that Mrs Bimble has found her wings in the next world; she was so pinned to the ground by her weak legs in this one, and her huge soul needs all the space it can find.

My heart’s wings will mend at some point and learn to fly again, although they will likely be patched rather than pristine. But don’t all those of us who have experienced love have somewhat battered wings?–January 2026, Julie B.

Bella was the love of my life and intensely funny.

She was five when she was brought to the shelter by a woman who was living in her car. Such a heartbreaking situation. I saw Bella and just flipped for her, but a colleague said, “No, this dog is perfect for my daughter!” So Bella went home with someone else that night.

The next morning, she was back! She’d nipped the husband. Oh well, I laughed, she’s mine now! And so she was. She was mine and I was hers.

I’ve had many dogs and cats through the years, but only a few were so clearly a part of me. Bella is one of those few.

Frankie helped with all sorts of tasks. He’d lie on my work as I tried to do my taxes. He’d supervise the dogs. All of them. He’d head-butt me every morning, demanding only the best cat food available.

Frankie was a Chausie, a cross with a wild cat, Felis chaus, and an Abyssinian. He was wild and crazy and drove my nuts. But we loved each other. Born in 2009, he lived a busy life up until he was nearly 16.

He was an extraordinary dog supervisor–following the gang around and waiting for someone to lie down so he could curl up with them.