Stephanie Holmes with Nina, her dog who died when Auckland was under level four lockdown. Photo / Supplied
"I lost my dog in lockdown" could be the start of the saddest country song ever written.
But, even sadder, this is my reality – our beloved Nina died at the end of August, just 11 days after New Zealand was plunged back into level 4.
I'd already been experiencing a sense of grief, struggling to rationalise the loss of freedom and fear and uncertainty a pandemic brings. But to have the death of a pet savagely piled on top of that? Just cruel. Even worse? Having to work from home, where every room holds a reminder of life before she left us.
I wanted a dog my whole life but it took until I turned 40 before I finally got one. Nina belonged to friends of a friend, who had moved overseas for work and couldn't take her with them. They needed someone to rent their house and, with it, look after their dog. For my partner Nathan and me, it was a dream come true.
I know everyone thinks this about their pets but Nina truly was the greatest dog in the entire world. Everyone that met her loved her instantly. Small children would point and delightedly giggle when they saw her; grown men would exclaim, "What a beautiful dog!" and ask if they could pat her. In turn, Nina – a big, white, fluffy retrodoodle – would happily greet her adoring fans.
She was fun and funny and goofy and loving. I miss her every day.
Nina was approaching her 14th birthday as we went into lockdown on August 18 but she was in good health, other than monthly injections for arthritis in her hips. She was full of life and joy, still galloping around like a miniature pony. But in a matter of days, everything changed.
She collapsed one night and we had to rush her to the emergency vets. Under level 3 and 4 restrictions, owners aren't allowed inside vet clinics with their pets, so we sat in the car outside, in a state of shock, wondering if we'd ever see her again. Two hours and a few hundred dollars later, she had perked up enough for us to take her home. Four days later, she went to her regular vet for a full health check-up. It was a stroke, Dr Vicki Lim told us, but she was recovering. She came home again but something still wasn't quite right.
One morning, there was a rattle to her breath and she wouldn't get up; she just sat there, looking at me with her brown eyes underneath her silly fluffy eyebrows, both of us wondering what would happen next.
I think deep down I knew what was coming. I didn't want to leave her side, so I set up my laptop on a stool, sat on a cushion on the floor next to her and went about my usual work day, in between offering pats and soothing words of encouragement.
"If she's going to die," I told Nathan, through choked back tears, "I want it to be at home, not alone at the vet." The thought was devastating – I couldn't bear her being scared and sick and stressed without us there to comfort her.
But in the end, the choice was taken away from us. Overnight, Nina rapidly deteriorated so we gently loaded her into the car and drove to the vets, arriving on the dot of their 8am opening time. We couldn't enter the clinic so we stood aside while Lim and a nurse carried Nina in. It was the last time we'd see her alive. The poor, beautiful dog had a stroke, followed by a heart attack, and died before we could say goodbye.
The clinic staff were so kind and patient – they brought her out to us so we could have some time with her. There was no privacy – we were in a carpark on the corner of Ponsonby's Willamson Ave - but this was not the time for composure. I cried and cried and felt overwhelmingly lost. What would we do now? How could we go home without her? It was impossible to comprehend.
The indignities continued. Her owners had returned to New Zealand prior to lockdown but, living in Cambridge, were unable to get to Auckland for their own goodbyes. Our friends, who loved Nina too, couldn't be with us to share in our grief. Instead, they sent the only thing that could possibly help at a time like this – bottles of wine, delivered contactlessly to our door.
I took to my bed for a couple of days but, on the third, we had to leave the house to go for our second Covid vaccinations. It felt like a momentous occasion but the temporary distraction ended abruptly as we pulled up back at home. My heart broke all over again to realise Nina wouldn't be there to give us her usual over-excited greeting as we walked through the door.
Nearly three months on and the grief is still palpable, with so many daily reminders that she's gone. I know it's a good thing to have this time at home to grieve but mostly I just want to run away and busy myself in the office, where her absence wouldn't be so viscerally felt.
There are so many feelings to deal with. I hate that she couldn't last forever. I'm angry that this hideous pandemic meant we were separated when she died. I'm sad I can't pat strangers' dogs when I see them in the park. I'm hopeful it won't be this hard forever.
But most of all, I just miss my little mate.
Losing Nina has been heartbreaking for us, naturally, but I was also curious about what it was like for the vets who treated her. How does working under level 3 and 4 restrictions impact them?
In a Zoom call, Auckland Pet Hospital's Dr Vicki Lim told me that lockdown definitely makes things harder for vet clinics. As well as trying to do the best for pets and their owners, staff are also having to consider their own safety and wellbeing. Under level 4, vets were allowed to take on only essential work – emergencies and treating severely ill animals, but unable to do more regular treatments like desexing and immunisations. This changed under level 3 and they could resume regular work, albeit in a contactless way. Owners must wait outside the clinic, no matter how seriously ill their pet is.
Lim says that's the worst part, especially when animals need to be euthanised.
"We would like to be able to welcome you in to the clinic and let you have a nice, warm, safe space for you to grieve with your animal and it's private, rather than in the carpark with people coming and going, but we just can't do that," she says. "We try as hard as we can to make it as pleasant as possible [for pet owners] but it's still not as nice as we'd like it to be."
Where possible, Lim and the team will try to perform animal euthanasia outside, allowing owners to be with their pets while they die.
"I'm trying to give them as good an experience as I possibly can. And yes, I can't let you into the clinic, but I still think the best thing is for you to be with your pet so if we have to do it outside in the rain, then I'll just put on a jacket. I'd rather do that. I don't think it's important for you to come into the clinic, but I do think it's important for you to stay with your animal."
Her advice to anyone who has lost their own pet during lockdown is simple.
"Always focus on the good memories. And just take each day as it comes."
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