Grief, Gratitude & Seasonal Transitions | Wilder Days
Pet loss grief weaves through this story of Wilder—held in the light of seasonal transitions, first harvest reflections, and quiet gratitude.
There’s a moment in late summer when the air changes—just a whisper—and you know the seasons are about to turn. It’s the time of the first harvest, back-to-school sales, and golden hours that feel more urgent, more precious. It’s a strange ache, standing at the edge of summer and fall: eager to move forward with energy and hope, yet reluctant to loosen our grasp on these long, sun-soaked days.
Lately, I’ve been noticing the small signs—crispy leaves along the walks, blackberries ripening on the brambles, hawthorn berries emerging, foxglove leaning toward their final bloom. Butterflies still dance through the fireweed and honeysuckle, as if trying to sip every last drop of summer. My favorite espaliered pear trees, nestled behind a neighbor’s lavender and daisies, now hold the early fruits of the season like secret gifts waiting to be discovered.
The sun remains high, bright, and intense—but it shines with a different voice than in June. Beneath its warmth, a quiet hum of change vibrates, subtle yet sure. Autumn is waiting in the wings, and she’s already lacing her fingers through the light.
Pet Loss Grief in the Season of First Harvest
As the world shifts, so do we. In the first week of August, we said goodbye to one of our heartbeats—our Wilder.
She was our Grrr Grrrrl, the garden companion, the kitchen shadow, the one who surveyed her domain (and all the boys in it) with full authority. She was the spark behind the name Wild Capo Studio—a name chosen to honor her big spirit in a tiny body, her fierce loyalty, and her wild little heart.
Wilder first came to us as a young stray dog, shy, uncertain about her place in the world. She could fit in two hands, with eyes that carried both curiosity and caution. In those early days, she stayed close, learning the rhythms of our home and our hearts.
As she grew, she came to know exactly who she was and what she was about. She followed her dreams—usually food-related—but always with conviction. She reminded us, in countless quiet ways, to be present, to be particular, to be proud of what we love.
Over time, she became the Grrr Grrrrl we knew and loved: fierce, funny, and deeply loyal. She helped comb wool like it was her sacred duty, inspected garden beds, and supervised any kitchen activity with great seriousness. If ducks needed wrangling, she was there. If tennis balls needed brooding—well, perhaps they might hatch into more tennis balls if she sat on them long enough.
She had her favorite companions—Spencer, her steadfast buddy, who shared long naps and soft head presses; new friends she welcomed with gentle authority; and the whole household, who knew better than to ignore her Sonic Bark when someone (human or canine) was out of line. That bark could cut through a room like lightning, restoring order instantly.
When Orbin, the newest member of the family, came to live with us, she welcomed him just as Spencer had welcomed her: with open paws and open heart.
Playfulness ran through her like a golden thread. There was the time she battled a crocheted kraken, teeth bared in victory. Her sassy grin could brighten even the hardest day. And in her quieter moments, she curled up for well-earned naps, the very picture of contentment after a full day of being exactly who she was.
In her final weeks, she still kept her routines—surveying the yard, finding the best sunbeam, pressing close to her people. Her last licks and loves were given with the same care she’d shown her whole life: intentional, wholehearted, and entirely Wilder.
Losing her in this season feels cosmically appropriate, though no less painful. Late summer is all about thresholds: the harvest, the turning, the sacred pause between what was and what will be. These moments—between sunlight and shadow, between presence and memory—are liminal and luminous. They shimmer with both grief and gratitude.
Sometimes the most sacred part of the cycle is this very pause, where we grasp at the fleeting beauty of what’s slipping away, not quite ready to say goodbye, not quite sure what comes next.
And yet… change always comes. It softens us, strengthens us, reshapes us. In every cloud that drifts across the sky, in every breeze that rustles the grass, in every moment of stillness after the storm—transformation is always humming.
If you wait long enough, change always comes.
This is what I’ve been holding lately: the reminder that even in grief, there is room for wonder. That in endings, new meanings emerge. That gratitude can live right alongside the ache.
So I leave you with this quiet invitation:
As the light begins to shift and the first harvest fills the fields and hedgerows, take a moment to feel into your own seasonal transitions. What is ripening in you? What is asking to be released? What are you still holding close?
What remains?
What deepens?
What changes?
Whatever you’re moving through, may you know this: change will come.
And with it, a thousand new ways to begin again.
🌿 Finding Support with Pet Loss Grief
If you’re navigating pet loss grief, remember you don’t have to walk this path alone:
- Support Groups & Hotlines – Visit the Association for Pet Loss and Bereavement (APLB) or check with your local humane society.
- Veterinary Guidance – Ask your veterinarian about local grief counseling or support networks.
- Online Communities – Explore resources like Blue Cross Pet Loss Support for free chats and forums.
- Coping Rituals – Create a photo collage, write a letter to your pet, or make a donation in their honor.
💛 If your pet loss grief feels overwhelming, please reach out to a grief counselor or crisis hotline for immediate support.
