By Maureen Quinlan, News Staff

Goodbyes are hard. That is one fact of life with which I’m slowly and begrudgingly coming to terms. Saying goodbye to my parents and Colorado friends every time I come back to Boston, saying goodbye to my Boston friends when I left to study abroad and saying goodbye to my study abroad friends when I went home are all goodbyes I don’t like thinking about.

But there are some goodbyes that are harder than others. The goodbyes we say to our pets, especially when we know they may be permanent, may be the hardest goodbyes of all.

When I first moved to Boston, it was my two dogs that I missed the most. I could call my mom, and explain to my friends what the transition had been like, but I couldn’t tell my pets where I was or that I was coming back.

Seeing them upon that first return was so sweet. Their tails wagging and attention was the thing I had missed the most.

Even though we know pet lives are so short and a temporary part of our own lives, there is nothing that prepares us for the shock when they die.

It is a common thread I’ve been seeing in my peers’ lives and mine. We get these pets at a young age and grow up with them, which most likely means that they have lived their full lives by the time we reach our college years.

It is a painful reality we must live with as animal lovers and pet owners. A pet, no matter how great or lovable, will not be with us for the duration of our lives.

In W. Bruce Cameron’s book “A Dog’s Purpose,” a six-year-old put it best saying he knew why dogs’ (and other pets’) lives are so short: “People are born so that they can learn how to live a good life – like loving everybody all the time and being nice, right? Well, dogs already know how to do that, so they don’t have to stay as long.”

If you have a pet, I hope you have had the pleasure of knowing the love and happiness an animal can bring you. I know that I am lucky enough to have experienced such a bond.

Bridie and Bailey were Irish Setters, large red-haired dogs with a lot of eccentric personality. I got them when I was 10 years old. They came into my life after the loss of the dogs that were around when I was born. They were brother and sister, best friends.

They were there through all my formative years. I walked them down countless paths, snuggled with them on the floor during thunderstorms, and gave them baths in the bathtub.

They were there when I failed my first driver’s test. They were there when I came home from summer camp with a sprained ankle. They were there when I didn’t get into my first-choice college. They were there for every tear and sad moment.

But they were also there for every happy celebration, including graduations, every birthday, every Christmas and every day after school.

One of the best things about having a dog, and I’m sure any pet, is the unconditional love they provide you the moment you walk through the door at the end of the day.

That is what I miss most of all, the mundane moments of loving them. Of course I miss the funny stories. Like the time Bridie ate an entire bag of flour, or when Bailey jumped into the trunk of my dad’s sedan to go for a ride, but it’s the little moments that made Bridie and Bailey more than pets. They were family.

I still think about them every day, even though it’s been almost a year since they died. Bailey got very sick last year and my parents had to put him down two weeks before I came home for Thanksgiving. Not being able to say goodbye was a hard situation to grapple with, but I didn’t have to see his empty bed or hear Bridie’s cries until I processed my grief.

Bridie died on New Year’s Eve last year, just as we got a new rescue dog named Bluey.

The memories and the love that they gave me and allowed me to give back just keeps me believing that all dogs go to heaven.