Hot Lines and Therapists on Call When Pet Dies : Bereavement: Owners seldom think ahead to the inevitable loss of a dear friend. That grief has driven people to suicide, caused others to lose jobs, devastated families and marriages.

When a special pet dies, no one can measure the profound grief that its owner suffers. Gone is the gentle look of recognition, the softness of unquestioning trust, the curious chemistry of companionship.

That grief has driven people to suicide, caused others to lose jobs, devastated families and marriages.

To deal with it, the majority of the 27 veterinary schools in the United States, plus four in Canada, are devising new ways--hot lines for emergency emotions, support groups and even therapists--to handle the singular grief of a lost pet.

Not even the vet escapes the emotional weight.

“Unlike doctors,” says veterinarian Kelly Palm, 29, now in private clinical practice in Vacaville, Calif., “a vet may have to deal with two euthanasias a day, maybe up to 300 a year, and that takes a toll.

“We are like family practitioners; we must take care of what’s on the other end of the leash.”

The English have been more attuned to the importance of that special bond, a bond that in some cases is the only one an individual can make.

The movement to treat grieving pet owners began in the United States about 15 years ago when a psychiatrist at the University of Pennsylvania received a grant for an experiment on whether there was a relationship between bereavement toward humans and bereavement toward animals.

“That opened a better window into human bereavement and within the last 15 years, the movement just gained momentum,” said Dr. Alan Beck, director of the Center for Applied Ethology and Human Animal Interaction at Purdue University. Although some of the original premises proved to be incorrect, it kicked off a tidal wave of research into the devastation brought on by the loss of a pet.

The loss--be it a horse, a dog, a cat, a ferret, even that very special calf or heifer that 4-H youngsters raise--can be as traumatic as the loss of a mother or father.

“I have some colleagues who think what I do is ridiculous,” said Bonnie Mader, a family, marriage and child counselor at the University of California, Davis. She and her then-student, Kelly Palm, were the first to establish a pet hot line, similar to a suicide hot line.

In February, it will be 5 years old. It is manned from 6:30 a.m. to 9:30 p.m. Monday through Friday by vet students to give them training in what they will face when they begin their own practices.

There are six to 10 other hot lines, either at veterinary schools or at animal shelters.

Although there are more support groups and therapists on the two coasts, it is widespread throughout the United States, but not as extensive as the founders of the movement would like.

Jennifer Saver, 43, a vet school senior at Michigan State, hopes to start a hot line with her students by February.

In her first year at school, she lost a cat she had had for a long time and did not know how to handle her own grief. Tubbs, or Tubbo, or White Rat, as she variously called him, was somehow just “special.”

“Special” seems to be the adjective that all pet owners tend to use. They frequently can’t explain why.

“Now there are books, pamphlets, videotapes available so people don’t need to feel so alone,” Saver said. “Maybe I’m just going through my second childhood.”

One of the biggest resource centers is the Animal Medical Center in Manhattan, a teaching hospital where vets come for postgraduate work.

The center employs a full-time social worker, Susan Cohen, who runs a support group and counsels individuals who have lost pets.

Randi Greenberg of Piscataway, N.J., lost Cinnamon, a “special” ferret, and attended two of the groups. She found them helpful and now has two more ferrets.

“I met my husband at the law firm where I work and when he first came into my office he saw my sign: ‘Love me, love my ferret.’ ” she says. Now, he, too, is a lover of ferrets, which, unlike their wild relatives, weigh only 2 pounds.

Greenberg’s friend, Lori Atkin, lost a dog, Ralphie, whom she found when she was a 17-year-old college freshman in Troy, N.Y.

“He was starving, had worms, mange and was terrified,” she said. “He had obviously been abused. I took him to a vet and had him all fixed up and I guess he was symbolic of my venture into adulthood. It was my first time away from home and he went everywhere with me.”

When Ralphie died, sitting next to her on her sofa on a Christmas Day, she did not even call family and friends.

“Why should I spoil their holiday?” she asked.

Ralphie had attended all of her law classes. One professor tended to ramble at his seminars. Precisely at 4:30 p.m., the scheduled quitting time, the husky mutt would go up and put his head on the prof’s knee.

He’d say, “What’s the matter, Ralphie, am I going on too long?”

Atkin kept his portrait in her office, then brought it to her home in Mendham, N.J., after his death.

When the grief is beyond the norm, Susan Cohen often refers the patient to Dr. Carole Fudin, a psychotherapist who says 50% to 75% of her clients are people who have lost pets.

“Sometimes I’m the first person to tell them they are not crazy. If that is the only bond they have, then I say, ‘Thank God for that bond.’

“Sometimes it stirs up layers upon layers of grief. A person may not have mourned the loss of a parent, or a spouse, or even a child, and that animal brings it all back.”

She says she has had couples who were fighting over custody of a pet, and she had to counsel them just as she would if they were squabbling over the custody of a child.

“I’ve talked to people who have lost lizards, cats, dogs, snakes, even a Galapagos turtle named Kelso,” she said.

Where did they get the turtle?

“I don’t know and I didn’t want to know.”

Fudin has a psychiatrist she calls upon when medication is needed, but she says that is rare. If medication is needed, it is usually an antidepressant or tranquilizer.

“Sometimes a pet is symbolic of a lost spouse or a marriage,” Fudin said.

Dr. Suzanne Hetts, an animal behaviorist in Colorado, says that even cowboys often come in for therapy or help in making the decision to euthanize an animal.

Hetts works at the Denver Dumb Friends League, founded in 1910. The league has a voice-mail system open 24 hours a day; calls have come from Australia, England and practically every state.

In Colorado, there are several programs. One is at the University of Colorado in Ft. Collins and is called CHANGES: the support for people and pets program, sponsored by vets and run by licensed therapists.

In Denver, there is a program at an animal shelter where people bring animals they can no longer keep to be put up for adoption.

They have 24 hours to change their mind, but if the pet is not able to be adopted, it must be euthanized to make room for more adoptable pets.

It is estimated that somewhere between 2 million to 3 million unwanted pets are euthanized each year. Some put the estimate as high as 10 million.

Death, animal or human, remains one of the deepest problems human society must deal with.