Do Animals Choose How They Pass?

I believe they do.

I have had the privilege of living with many, many animals during my 60 years on this planet. Along with that privilege comes the inevitable time of transition.

As I look back, I can see that each of my beloved friends passed in the way that was right for them.

Not necessarily the way I would have wanted them to pass.

The way they wanted to pass.

Hermes struggled for three years. He took his time. At the time, there were moments when I wished it could have been easier for him. Looking back, I understand that Hermes was giving all of us time.

He was the first of the herd to leave.

I needed time to understand what was happening. The herd needed time too. We were all learning together what it meant for one of us to begin leaving this physical life.

Hermes asked for help when it was time.

Milly did too.

Milly knew she was transitioning long before she left. She was concerned about what would happen to the herd without her. She told me to get a puppy, and then she trained him.

She stayed until he was ready.

And then she left.

Milly had lung cancer. She did not want to suffocate. When the time came, she made it very clear that she wanted help.

Some animals want help with their transition.

Some do not.

Smitty did not.

My sweet alpaca boy Smitty passed away last night or early this morning.

Yesterday he was himself. Spry. Sweet. There was nothing that made me think I was about to lose him.

And then he was gone.

It was a full moon and an eclipse, and I cannot help but feel that Smitty was waiting for the right portal to make his transition.

Smitty chose something completely different from Hermes and Milly.

He wanted his passing to be his own private experience.

He did not want flowers and candles and me sitting beside him crying.

He did not ask me to help him.

He simply left.

And I believe Milly and Hermes were there to help him do it.

My herd is aging now. Except for Oso, they are all in the later years of their lives. I know the next five years may hold a lot of goodbyes.

Smitty reminded me that those goodbyes may not happen the way I expect them to.

They may not even happen the way I would choose.

And maybe that is not mine to choose.

What Smitty Taught Me

Smitty taught me that love does not always mean being there for the final breath.

Sometimes love means trusting the relationship enough to allow someone to leave in their own way.

We humans carry so much responsibility around the deaths of the animals we love.

Did I do it too soon?

Did I wait too long?

Should I have known?

Should I have done more?

We replay the last hours and days, looking for the place where we might have made a different decision.

Smitty reminded me that perhaps we give ourselves far more authority over death than we actually have.

There is no single right way to leave.

Some animals linger.

Some ask for help.

Some give us months or years to prepare.

Some leave between one ordinary day and the next.

Some want us beside them.

And some, like Smitty, seem to say, I’ve got this.

There is no wrong way.

That is a human thing.

Over the years, I have spoken with animals in spirit who have shared some of the reasons they transitioned the way they did.

One cat told me that she left very quickly because she knew her mom would spend every last dollar she had and every ounce of her energy trying to save her.

She did not want that for her.

She wanted to leave quietly, on her own terms.

When I told her person this, she immediately said it was true. She would have mortgaged her house if she thought there was even the smallest chance of saving her baby.

That cat knew her person.

Our animals know us.

They know our hearts. They know our patterns. They know what we can carry and what we will try to carry even when it is too much.

Perhaps their passing is one final expression of that relationship.

Some leave slowly because we need time.

Some ask us to help because that is part of what we have promised one another.

And some slip quietly away because they know that if they asked us to participate, letting go would be almost impossible.

Smitty taught me that I do not have to understand every transition in order to trust it.

Sometimes my job is not to manage the ending.

Sometimes my job is simply to love them while they are here and trust them when they leave.

You May Be Wondering...

Are you saying we should never intervene when an animal is suffering?

No.

Hermes and Milly taught me the opposite. There are times when our animals ask us very clearly for help, and helping them leave can be one of the greatest acts of love we offer.

How can you know an animal chose the way they died?

I cannot prove it.

This is what I have come to believe after a lifetime of living with animals, listening to them, watching them transition, and speaking with some of them after they have left their bodies.

You do not have to believe what I believe.

But I do think there is comfort in considering that death may not be something that simply happens to them.

Perhaps, at least sometimes, they participate in it.

What if I still feel guilty about how my animal passed?

Then perhaps this is the piece I most want Smitty to give you.

Your beloved companion knew you.

They knew how deeply you loved them.

Their entire relationship with you is not defined by one final day, one decision, or one moment you wish had happened differently.

Love is much bigger than the ending.

Smitty left quietly.

No ceremony.

No request for help.

Just one ordinary day followed by a doorway I did not know he was about to walk through.

And somehow, that feels exactly like Smitty.

He made his own choice.

He found his own way.

And I trust that when he crossed that threshold, he was not alone.

I am never alone. I am always loved. I trust that implicitly.

May you see the world through the eyes of love, remembering that we are all part of one living, sacred whole.