What Binngo Taught Me

On losing a pet in your care, finding a way forward, and why every groomer needs to be prepared for the worst day of their career.

His name was Binngo. He was nine years old, a Maltese, and he had a known heart condition. His veterinarian had cleared him for grooming. His owner had no reason to worry when I pulled into his driveway. 

Neither did I.

He had a heart attack on my grooming table. And he died.

I want to sit with that for a moment before I say anything else, because I think it is important that you feel the weight of it. Not the liability. Not the protocol. Not what comes next. Just the reality of what it means to have an animal die in your hands.

I had done everything right by conventional standards. I had a healthy-for-grooming clearance from his vet. I was experienced. I cared about the animals in my care. And none of it was enough to prepare me for that moment, or for the moments that followed, the call to the owner, the drive to the clinic, the grief that settled into my chest and stayed there for longer than I expected.

What I did not have was a plan. I did not know the steps. I did not know what to say to the owner, or in what order to do things, or what documentation would matter later. I was making decisions in real time, in shock, while also trying to be present for a family who had just lost their dog.

That is not a position any grooming professional should ever find themselves in alone.

The Thing About Grief is That It Teaches You

Binngo’s death changed me by redirecting me.

I became a pet first aid instructor.

Not because I wanted to turn pain into a credential. But because I kept thinking about all the groomers out there who were exactly where I had been, caring deeply, working hard, and completely unprepared for the worst day of their career. I became an instructor because I believed then, and I believe now, that knowledge saves lives. Not just the lives of the pets on our tables. The professional lives and emotional lives of the people who care for them.

And here is what I know after years of teaching pet first aid to grooming professionals: almost no one comes into this work thinking about what happens when a pet dies in their care. We think about technique. We think about difficult clients and difficult coats. We think about building our businesses. We do not think about the phone call we might have to make one day, or the owner who will be waiting at the vet clinic, or the staff member who will be shaking in the break room afterwards and not know why.

Bingo died on my table. But he is also the reason hundreds of groomers are better prepared today than they were before. That is the only thing that has ever made the grief feel like it had a purpose.

What I Wish I Had Known

I am not going to tell you that having a protocol would have saved Binngo. His heart condition was known. His vet had cleared him. Some outcomes are simply beyond our control, and that is one of the hardest truths of working with living animals. Even remembering how to do CPR would not have helped in this scenario, but at least I would have known I did everything I could have to save Binngo.

But I will tell you this: having a protocol would have changed everything that came after.

A protocol would include who to call first and what to say, how to request a necropsy report, preserve any video footage, and communicating with the owner. It means your staff has a place to process their grief. And when the shock clears, you have a record of what happened and not because I was covering myself, but because accuracy and transparency are what a grieving family deserves.

It would have meant I was not alone in it.

The steps matter. Not because they make the loss smaller. They do not. But because they give you something to do when everything in you wants to fall apart, and they ensure that the people who trusted you, the owner, the staff, yourself, are all treated with the care and seriousness the moment deserves.

If a pet dies in your care, here is what needs to happen:

• Call your veterinarian first. Not the owner. The vet is your first resource and your first professional witness.
• Transport the pet to the clinic with care and dignity. Bring the signed waivers.
• Request a necropsy report. An independent determination of cause of death protects the truth and protects you. If the owner orders this, they do not have to share it with you.
• Preserve your video footage immediately. Archive it and back it up.
• Call the owner and ask them to meet you at the clinic. Do not tell them their pet has died over the phone. That conversation needs to happens in person.
• Be there when they arrive. Listen. Be present. Do not be defensive.
• Debrief your staff. Give them space to process what they witnessed. Consider bringing in a grief counselor.
• Document everything, accurately and completely, while it is still fresh.
• Follow up with the owner in writing. Share the necropsy results when they are available.
• Review your protocols. Learn what you can. Then update your practices.

These steps do not make it easier to lose a pet. Nothing does. But they ensure that when it happens, you respond with the professionalism and humanity that the situation, and the people in it, deserve.

What This Profession Asks of Us

Grooming is one of the most intimate services in the pet care industry. We handle animals in ways that even their owners rarely do. We see their bodies, their skin, their teeth, their anxiety, and sometimes their decline. We are often the first to notice that something is wrong. And we are sometimes the last to see them alive.

That is not a small thing. It should not be treated like one.

I teach pet first aid because I want groomers to understand that the animals in their care are not just appointments. They are living beings with hearts that beat and lungs that breathe and conditions that can change in a moment. Checking gum color. Knowing the signs of distress. Having a plan. These are not extras. They are part of what it means to be a professional in this field.

And having a plan for the worst day is not pessimism. It is respect, for the animals, for the owners, for your staff, and for yourself.

The best version of this profession is one where every groomer is trained, prepared, and supported enough to show up fully for every animal, including on the days when things go wrong.

Bingno did not get the outcome I wanted for him. But the groomers I have trained since that day have been better equipped because of him. They know how to check gum color. They know the signs that a pet is in distress. They know what to do if everything goes wrong.

That is Binngo’s legacy. And it is the reason I will keep teaching for as long as anyone is willing to learn.

If you do not have a protocol for pet death in your facility, today is the right time to build one. If you have never taken a pet first aid course, consider making it a priority this year. And if you have been through something like this yourself and have never had the space to process it, I see you. This work is heavy. You do not have to carry it alone.

Rest well, Binngo.