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Healing with Paws: How Shetland Sheepdogs Help Us Through Grief

A somewhat different post today. I hope the process of writing will help my own grief.

My mom passed away, at least two months ago. I can’t even say I know when it happened, but I don’t. She and I were estranged, for very stupid reasons. But, she was stubborn and petty, and I learned the art of petty from her — long story short, we went about seven years without speaking to each other.

That’s bad enough, but I was told that she never wanted me to know when she passed away. Thank goodness that my aunt and one of my cousins had the decency to inform me. There are relatives who knew before I did, were friends with me on Facebook, and only after my aunt told me did they come and say oh, okay, your aunt just told me you know about your mom… I’ve blocked those people. I don’t need people like that in my life.

Another layer of tom foolery to all of this is my uncle’s widow. She seems to think that she’s the beneficiary to my mom’s life insurance, and she might be. But she just wants a copy of my mom’s death certificate so she can gain access to any money my mom may have had, which wouldn’t be much. I know there’s a bank account where her social security checks were deposited, and the life insurance. My aunt, who took care of getting my mom from the NYC morgue and her cremation, has sent me a death certificate. I need this because my mom’s apartment was sealed and the police currently have her keys. I need to get into her apartment, find her SS number so I can contact them and stop the checks, and also tell them to retrieve anything they deposited after she passed. Then I need to find these life insurance papers. If my uncle’s widow is the beneficiary, that’s fine. She can have it all. And I mean everything. Cleaning out her apartment, dealing with NYCHA, paying any remaining bills and making sure her final taxes get filed next year. She can have ALL of that responsibility because if my mom truly didn’t want me to know anything about her passing, then I’m not going to handle any of it. Like I said, I can be petty too.

But it’s just all so weird with my uncle’s widow. She claims there’s no police report. Are you kidding me? The police were called and her apartment is sealed. The police have her keys. Of course there’s a police report. She also says that she’s getting copies of paperwork from my mom’s life insurance policy that shows she’s the beneficiary. I’m not sure if insurance companies can do that, without proof of who you are and a death certificate. It’s all weird, and the sooner I get into that apartment, the quicker this all can be over with.

But I digress, this is a blog devoted to my Bailey Boo and just how awesome she is. And over the past few weeks, she has been just that. So let’s get on with today’s blog post.

Driving across the Verrazzano-Narrows bridge 06/25/2025 into Astoria, NY to say goodbye to my mom

Grief

Grief is an emotion that wraps itself around your heart—quietly, heavily, and without warning. When we lose someone we love, the silence can be deafening, and the world can feel just a bit colder. But for many of us dog moms, there’s a comforting warmth that never leaves our side, no matter how stormy our hearts feel: our dogs.

And if you’re lucky enough to share your life with a Shetland Sheepdog—like my sweet Bailey—you already know just how attuned they are to your every emotion.

Radom photo of an apartment building in NYC that has boats parked outside in the water

The Gentle Sensitivity of a Sheltie

Shetland Sheepdogs, or Shelties, are not just known for their stunning coats and intelligence; they’re also deeply sensitive, intuitive souls. These loyal companions have a gift for reading our energy. Whether we’re laughing, crying, or somewhere in between, they just know. It’s not just about body language or tone of voice—Shelties seem to have an emotional radar, a sixth sense that guides them straight to our hearts when we need them most.

During moments of grief, this sensitivity becomes something extraordinary.

“I need breakfast NOW mama!”

A Soft Nudge, A Steady Presence

When you’re grieving, even getting out of bed can feel like climbing a mountain. But Shelties like Bailey don’t need words or explanations. They’ll curl up next to you, resting their head on your lap, letting their quiet presence fill the space your loved one once did. It’s as if they’re saying, “I’m here. You’re not alone.”

Bailey has this gentle way of nudging my hand when tears start to fall—just enough to pull me out of the spiral and remind me I’m still loved. Sometimes she brings her favorite toy, as if to say, “Let’s find a little light together.”

Encouraging Healing Through Routine

Dogs, especially herding breeds like Shelties, thrive on routine—and that structure can be healing during times of chaos. Grief often distorts our sense of time and purpose. But Bailey needs her walk, her breakfast, her playtime. She needs me to show up. And in showing up for her, I slowly begin to show up for myself again.

“Mama made this bandana for me, and then made me wear it to take a picture…”

Companionship Without Judgment

What makes Shelties such powerful emotional healers is their unwavering presence. They don’t try to fix our sadness or rush our healing. They just stay—offering us a love that asks nothing in return. No timeline. No expectations. Just fur, patience, and love in its purest form.

The Unspoken Bond

Grieving with a Sheltie by your side is like having a living, breathing heart whisperer. They teach us that healing doesn’t come all at once—it comes in quiet moments. In tail wags. In long, comforting snuggles. In the deep brown eyes that seem to say, “I miss them too, but I’ve got you.”

Bailey has walked with me through my own seasons of loss, her paws always finding their way to my soul. She doesn’t just fill the silence—she transforms it.

And if you’re walking through grief right now, please know this: let your Sheltie be part of the journey. Let them comfort you. Let them remind you that love, in all its forms, continues.

Picture back in happier days. That’s my mom all the way on the left. I’m the one all bundled up next to her. My mom’s best friend Noelle on the right. And the rug rat on top of the parked car is Jayson – son of my mom’s other bestie and our upstairs (?) neighbor at the time. I think this was in 1978 in Astoria, NY. We may not have spoken for the past seven years, but I loved my mom and I’m so sorry she died all alone and wasn’t found for over a month.

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2 Comments

  1. Sorry for your loss, whilst it can be a challenging time as you get things sorted out, you have Bailey that is like a ray of sunshine to brighten those darker more challenging times. Thank you for sharing.

  2. Animals are amazing, aren’t they? For me, it’s my cats, but the sentiment is the same; they’re just the perfect companions as we navigate the ups and downs of life. It was very interesting to learn about Shelties and their intuitiveness, I’m always amazed by the way animals are able to comfort us without saying a word. Bailey is adorable, by the way! Thank you for sharing.

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