Lessons From a Grieving Pet Parent

Why death, kittens, and mountains are the ultimate mentors

Sweet Lily riding the wind at Lam Dal Lake, Himachal Pradesh, India. The temple here is a site where shepherds often sacrifice goats and sheep as a peace offering with the mountains. Sometimes they don’t kill the goat, and just release it back into the wild — a gift for the illusive leopard.

Chapter 1: “Is it ethical?”

The question seemed too heavy, and tumbled about my head like an unpolished rock. Roxy, Lily, Srinidhi, and myself planned to hike from Dharamshala to Ladakh over most of the Himalayas — via 3 mountain passes (Gaj La- 4100m, Kugti La- 5100m, and Kang La- 5400m); from Hinduism to Buddhism; from rainforest to alpine desert. We had been training in the forest around our house. Lily riding on the backpack, and chasing behind Roxy.

These mountains have seen many feet. The inspiration came from our Tibetan counterparts who conquered similar routes to achieve relative freedom — not by choice, but to escape Chinese violence and follow His Holiness the Dalai Lama.

The climbing team at Gallu Devi Temple. Day one. We had no idea what we were getting into.

Chapter 2: Gone like the wind.

Our backpacks (~10kg) are stuffed with roasted chic-peas, chocolate bars, and dried fruit. And, of course, tsampa (roasted barley flour) which is the staple (and survival) food of many Tibetans. We also carry a tent, sleeping bags, and other cliché camping-stuff. The first day we almost lose Lily in a cave during a thunderstorm, and Roxy got so many seeds stuck on her face, her eyes were stitched shut.

We are in a groove. The animals keep us warm at night (in the sleeping bags), and we humans keep the animals safe during the day (from curious eagles and mama goats). Lily is walking 80% of the time — no leash; the other 20% she is purring beside my belly. It is pure joy to interact as a family in such a massive landscape.

Our bodies ache. By the second pass I have sciatica. Srinidhi suffers from the altitude and seems to walk in slow motion — each step a mountain of its own. Vultures circle overhead and I stuff Lily in my tummy. Roxy trots on unperturbed.

Logistics. We walk ~10km a day, and average 1000m of elv. up or down. We find our way using Maps.me and OSMand (two open source mapping apps that have opened up navigation in these wild places).

Food is sacred. Each bite equals one kilometer. Meals at the end of the day are silent and immersive. Our evolutionary cravings finally finding justification.

Lily is a lion. She has adapted to the wild — pouncing on butterflies, and stalking every shadow, her latent instincts bloom.

Chaper 3: Shepards are guides.

The Gaddi people live semi-nomadically between Ladakh and Punjab, annually migrating flocks to greener shores. As the snow melts they troop upwards, and reverse in the fall.

We watch the last armies march south to safer camps — winter is coming. We were always fed and chai-ed when we came across a group. Mostly 1–3 men with 20–100 goats and/or sheep. Baby goats had just been hatched with one Gaddi we camped beside, making for a hilarious play date with the kitten and puppy.

A Gaddi Shepard prepares chapati and dahl for us while the goats look on. We were out of water and too high (3800m) to find streams, they saved us by refilling our bottles, tummies, and souls.

“We are the last shepherds”. One tells us over a hot meal of rice and potatoes”. A thousand stars wink at us from above, and a wild river carries on its symphony. “My children won’t even visit me up here, and they hate the feeling of scratchy wool.” He is dressed in traditional Gaddi attire: Wool over-coat, wool trousers, Himachali-hat, and flimsy plastic shoes. He is half-sheep, half-mountain. He knows every possible shelter, plant, and danger in the valley cradling us.

A Gaddi Shepard looks on while tending his flock. He is one of the last humans holding on to the deep wisdom of the Himalayas. Photo: Aniruddh Sharma

A culture is slipping out of his strong fingers. In the morning, he nabs a mommy from the drowsy bunch, milks it with one hand; holding it firm with the other. Whips up a piping-hot chai, and bids us namaste.

We separate. In Keylong (Lahaul), Srinidhi hugs me tightly; she is going down to Bangalore for work. She takes Roxy to drop off at Dharamshala, and I carry on alone with the kitten. A mistake I will remember forever.

Chapter 4: Kang La.

The last obstacle to Ladakh — a 30km glacier traverse, with tricky moraines on either side and raging rivers. It is a lonely place ruled by its own severity. To solo it with a kitten has my ego pumping, perhaps too much.

Miyar Valley — 975.7 km² of which is glaciated, making it one of the longest glacial passes in India. Sadly it is dissapearing due to Climate Change.

I lose Lily. On the two day approach to the glacier, I take a break to work out my hip-knots. The kitten plays on my back while I stretch, she is so small. She mews and goes off exploring — normal.

After 10 minutes a terrible feeling washes through me — goosebumps. I bolt upright and make the first call: “Liiiiiilllllllyyyy! Meow, pisss pisss, Meooow!” Nothing. I’ll spare the details; I look for the next five hours. I cry. Every shadow looks like her, and every whisper initiates my responses. A man hikes by and sympathises, “…maybe the Himalayan fox? ” Or an eagle. Or maybe she’s still out there.

The last image of Lily. She would climb up my leg and enter under my shirt when she was tired.

Seven more days. I plow on in a mix of grief, regret, and guilt. What am I doing out here? Tears fall into the river as I place in a bouquet of flowers — letting them drift downstream.

What ritual can commemorate her life, assuage my pain, and turn back time?

I left her. What if she wasn’t killed? What if she is cold, alone and scrounging mice from a musty cave? What if…? A question too harsh for my mental health. My short bout with fatherhood is a failure.

Ice. The frozen mass moans under my feet. “Crack!” a small glacier collapses in the distance. This organism is adapting to change.

Barden Monastary in Zanskar is home to ~20 monks. It is most known for having remote hermitages (caves), where monks will spend months in isolation.

Chapter 5: A monastery!

Finally I’m spat out on the other side, in pain, exhausted, and brutally alone. I am happy to be alive; Kang La has eaten climbers in the past. I saunter to the white fortress embedded in the rock. A lone monk greets me, and makes me Ladakhey hand-pressed noodles (Skew). I stay the night and join the other monks in the morning at a near-by village who are doing a puja (prayers) in the temple. I meditate for Lily and the strange fate she poseses.

More hot food. I hitch-hike to Padum — the nearest town and connect with friends and family. I tell Sri, my partner — and Lily’s surrogate mother, the news. We cry.

Death is normal and to be expected. In nature, animals die regularly — this is a piece of evolution. And why we build cities, walls, and hospitals. We fear demise and suffering — rightly so, but perhaps it creates a harmful disconnect. Acceptance is difficult if we ignore the inevitable.

I’m glad I loved her, I’m glad I cuddled with her and watched her kill her first mouse in an abandoned shack at 4200m elevation. Yes, her life was short, but it was also epic, playful, and extraordinary. She climbed over mountains and traversed snowfields. Her best friend was a puppy who licked her from head to paw. Her name was Lily, and she was my friend.

Carcasses on the mountain. In wild landscapes, death is close and visible.

The lesson. I must not take the hearts (and lives) of those that love and depend on me for granted. Mountains are harsh but necessary teachers. Puppies and kittens are capable of mighty things. Grief is the price we pay for love.

Lily investigating the contours of life and death, after crossing Kugti pass.

Interesting post script:

After our trials in the mountains and losing Lily, a friend sends an article from back in Canada. An “Instagram-famous” pet-adventure-cat was lost in the wilds of Jasper National Park for 47 days surviving on mice and will power before being found. It has only been a month since Lily’s disappearance.