My dog, Shannon, died three months ago. I think about her every day and miss her terribly. She was a 12-year-old terrier and whippet mix. She was kind, playful and loving. She was black and skinny, with patches of white on her face and paws. A beautiful dog, inside and out.

Shannon was a huge part of my life, and in many ways, she was my best friend. Over the years, friends and girlfriends came and went, but Shannon remained the one constant, falling asleep at the foot of my bed each night and waking me up in the morning with a gentle nudge.

We had our routines – three walks a day; monthly baths; petting her soft head while I watched TV or worked on the computer. Shannon provided me with a wonderful sense of consistency and security.

In the wake of Shannon’s death, I’ve given some thought to how friends and family have responded to my grieving. Some gave it minimal time and attention, while others were much more sympathetic, supportive and caring.

Those who gave it minimal time and attention looked to end the conversation quickly or they changed the topic altogether. It underscored for me how uncomfortable many people are in talking about grief. The message, whether intended or not, was ‘Get over it’ or ‘It’s not such a big deal. It’s just a dog.’ What they may not understand is that the griever often wants to share thoughts, feelings and memories of the deceased, even if it’s painful to do so. I certainly did. Sharing is an enormous part of the healing process. To deny the griever that opportunity is disrespectful.

The second group was mostly made up of current or former pet owners, people who know what it’s like to lose a pet. I am profoundly grateful for the kindness of these people, including my very patient wife, not just for providing a sympathetic ear but also for allowing me to speak about Shannon, and to remember her as the very dear friend that she was.