A Pawfect Life — the ultimate guide to pet parenting

In A Pawfect Life, Dion Chang unpacks the latest trends of being a pet owner, sharing humorous and practical insights into just how far we’ve gone to pamper our beloved animal companions. 

Equally insightful and absurd, A Pawfect Life is the essential guide that will make you laugh, rethink your pet’s power over you and offer comfort for the inevitable goodbyes. Here is an excerpt.

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Becoming a pet doula 

A personal story… 

Up until a few years ago, I had never heard of a death doula, let alone thought that I would train as one. It took one Facebook post to trigger a process that I didn’t seem to have any control over. A hidden path had revealed itself and instinctively I embarked on a journey, not knowing where it would lead, nor how it would change my life. 

When I started training as an end-of-life companion doula (I prefer not to use the term “death doula” as it tends to kill lively dinner party conversations), my trainer pointed out two things: 

• I didn’t just decide to become an end-of-life doula on a whim. It’s a calling; and
• I will come to realise that I’ve been doing much of this work all along.

While training, doulas are encouraged to find an area of specialisation – much like doctors or people in social services would. It dawned on me that for many years I have been assisting friends with the difficult task of saying goodbye to their beloved pets. 

Over the years, I helped my late friend Barbara say goodbye to three of her cats, accompanying her to the vet when she had to make that heartbreaking final decision for the third time, and even burying her cat in the garden for her. When she passed away suddenly, I rehomed her two cats. 

A doula’s work is varied and often surprisingly mundane – like making a cup of tea to give a caregiver some respite or digging a pet grave. Emotional support comes in many forms. 

I now think back to my childhood and the many funerals I’ve conducted – for dead goldfish, multiple pigeons and the odd lizard. All of them sombre yet ceremonially over-the-top. The doula was in my DNA. I just never thought anything of it (but do wonder what my parents thought of the many rituals that were taking place in the garden). 

Now, the many interactions with pets or their owners, when the end was approaching, makes sense. I’ve cared for four of my own cats who all reached the ripe old age of 17 or 18 and had to bid them farewell. Each taught me a lesson about life and especially about dealing with loss with empathy and compassion when the time came. I might have trained as an end-of-life-companion doula for humans, but they trained me to be a pet doula.

The night I bid a tearful farewell to my cat, Moby, I wrote this tribute to him and the bond we had.

Goodbye Moby 

Tonight was hard. I said goodbye to Moby, a companion of 18 years, and the cat who taught me everything about life and mindfulness. I nursed him as a tiny ball of fluff – taken too young from his mum – and nursed him in his old age. 

About three or so years ago, I thought he was getting old and frail. His magnificent fur was starting to look dull, and he was losing weight. Having had to say goodbye to three other cats, I thought the end was near, so I decided then to make the most of our time left together and started brushing him every day to maintain that magnificent fur. Each day, brushing him became my time to be mindful: to connect and be present with him, but it also became a means for me to destress and disconnect from the day. 

Little did I know back then that it was not near the end. Whenever there was a health scare, we’d take him to the vet, and he bounced back. She called him “the miracle cat” (tonight she called him the Chuck Norris of cats). Each time she saw him, she’d reassure me and say, “it’s not time yet”. But tonight, it was time. 

Anyone who has had to play God with their pet’s lives will know the agony of making the decision. I know it was the right thing to do, but it still broke my heart. As my brother, Malcolm, once wrote about losing his dog, “grief is the ultimate price of love”.

But when the pain starts to subside, I know I will always remember Moby as the cat who taught me the real meaning of mindfulness. Brushing him almost every day, for the past three or more years, has made me realise how to cherish all relationships that matter – human, as well as animal. Make the connection: daily if you can. Make the call. Tell the ones you love that you love them. Don’t wait. Don’t leave things left unsaid. 

As heartbroken as I am, I know in my heart of hearts that “nothing was left unsaid” with Moby. His absence is already weighing heavily on the household, but I know that when the pain eventually fades, I’ll have all those years of daily, mindful moments we shared together, stored in a special place in my soul. 

Thank you, Moby. Rest in Peace. X 

Since saying goodbye to Moby, I’ve had to say goodbye to another cat, my 20-year-old Billy Bob. I’ve never had the privilege of a cat companion reaching 20. Twenty years is half an adult life and a remarkable lifetime for a cat. A timespan that creates a deep and meaningful bond – I called the time I had with Billy Bob “my 20-year love affair”. 

I was heartbroken, hence the dedication for this book. 

People who don’t have pets don’t always understand the deep bond that pet parents develop. If those pet parents don’t have children, then that “fur child” bond is visceral. To put it into perspective, someone once said to me, “I love my parents but they don’t live with me. They are not this sentient being that is always by my side, a constant companion who gives me unconditional love no matter what mood I’m in.”

Dogs will have an average 10-to-15-year lifespan and cats a 15-to-20-year lifespan. In many instances, they define different stages of your life, and in many cases are with you longer than some relationships or friendships you’ve had. And while they are a part of your life, you are their entire life. 

Deciding to euthanise is therefore a heartbreaking and agonising decision and the grief that follows cuts deeply and can be overwhelming and prolonged. Disenfranchised grief is a form of grief that is not acknowledged or validated by social norms, or by a community outside of yours. Grief does not discriminate, and yet pet bereavement will almost always take on the form of disenfranchised grief.

I have no doubt that my work as a doula will take many forms, but my past has steered me towards pets and the suppressed grief that pet parents endure when they have to part ways. A pet doula understands this and can be by your side when you have to stand at that rainbow bridge and say goodbye. DM

A Pawfect Life is published by Pan Macmillan South Africa. It is available to purchase at a retail price of R350.