For the Love of Reptiles (There’s Disenfranchised Grief There, Too)
Why reptile owners face unique grief challenges others don't understand — and proven coping strategies that help when it comes to reptile loss.
I was never a reptile person until my kids began to adopt their own pets.
One became the happy owner of a leopard gecko—“Nova,” gifted by a friend and already seven years old.
And another brought a corn snake into our home, a skinny orange baby who was christened “Creamsicle.”
Just being around these little creatures helped me, over time, go from squeamish and standoffish to happy to pet and hold them. (Seeing my kids find so much joy in them helped, too.)
It’s opened up a whole new aspect of the pet grief world that’s even less understood than general pet grief: Reptile loss and the human-reptile bond.
What I’ve learned has changed the entire way I look at this class of creatures, and I’m eager to share it with you.
A Bond That Others Don’t See
Caring for a new reptile isn’t loud and obvious, not like taking a rambunctious puppy to obedience school or playing with a kitten that bats at all things interesting.
The human-reptile bond is built mostly through quiet, daily acts of care that go unwitnessed: calibrating basking temperatures, monitoring UVB exposure, and preparing species-specific diets.
It’s also about learning to read those oh-so-subtle behavioral cues, from the tilted head of a bearded dragon to the way a ball python curls up differently when relaxed.
There’s also joy in watching quick-fire motions—like our gecko hunting with laser focus.
These small but notable acts become the “language” of the relationship between a human and a reptile. That lays the foundation for recognizing genuine personalities in these animals, with preferences and habits of their own, rather than seeing them as cold or emotionless organisms.
The Research is Surprising
Any committed reptile owner would likely argue you don’t need research to confirm reptile attachment, but this study fascinated me:
Using the Lexington Attachment to Pets Scale (LAPS), roughly 2,000 reptile guardians were surveyed. Results showed that the mean attachment score for reptiles fell within the normal range for all companion animals. And it was actually higher than the average score for dogs kept outdoors.
Respondents were most attached to lizards, then snakes, then tortoises. The researchers concluded that most guardians do not view their reptiles as “disposable.” (I take this to mean that a reptile owner wouldn’t be cool with switching their creature out for a new one if the old one died… which isn’t something I assumed, it’s just something I never thought about.)
But there’s more…
A mixed-methods study of 220 Portuguese reptile owners found that 64% considered their reptile a family member, 54% cited “like” or “love” as their primary motivation for keeping the animal, and 22 participants volunteered “companionship” as a key benefit.
The researchers concluded that human-reptile bonds are “driven by the same feelings as those previously reported for mammalian pets, although they are more diverse and nuanced by a sense of admiration and fascination.”
The Phobias Behind Reptile Grief Disenfranchisement
Reptile keepers deal with the same “just a” problem all pet owners face: “It’s just a lizard.” “It’s only a snake.” “You can get another one.”
But those disenfranchising comments go even further with painful “pet comparison” statements: “At least it wasn’t your dog.”
As I’ve written about before, these kinds of comments distance a pet owner from their own painful feelings, making them feel stupid or wrong for having so much grief. They end up minimizing their own pain with statements like, “I know it’s silly to be this sad, but...”
In fact, as I dug through blogs and posts about reptile pet loss, one of the most striking recurring themes was: “I’m scared you’re going to laugh at me, but I’m in so much pain after losing my snake and no-one seems to understand.”
A major reason for reptile grief disenfranchisement also lies in the fact that a lot of reptiles are the subject of phobias. People who are afraid of snakes (or anything with scales) have a hard time seeing them as objects of love.
Reptiles also lack the behavioral cues most people associate with a loving pet. They’re in cages, so they don’t seek you out. They don’t protest when you leave. There’s little sign of visible affection.
This all gels together to make it harder for outsiders to understand grief from reptile loss.
Which is why it’s important, I believe, not to bother comparing. The interactions between owners and their reptiles are significantly different from the way owners interact with mammals.
The grief patterns are different, too.
What Reptile-Specific Grief Looks Like
Following a loss, reptile owners describe particular pain at the sight of an empty terrarium, a vacant basking rock, or branches that no longer support a coiled tail.
And because the animal’s movements were both subtle and rhythmic (not loud and demonstrative like many mammalian pets), the absence is felt more keenly when daily micro-routines come to an end—like checking a thermometer, misting an enclosure, or preparing live food.
The guilt spiral is similar, though, to what I’ve written about in other types of pet loss. Keepers often report battling self-blame, wondering whether they missed a cue and should have taken their reptiles to the vet sooner, whether the temperature was off, or something else within their control that they (feel they) failed at.
And So the Coping Advice Is…
In the end, reptile grief is raw and painful, no different than all the other types of grief we’ve explored.
So if you ever come across someone who’s lost a reptile, or if you’ve lost a reptile, acknowledging that the pain is real and crushing is the first step.
Talking about the reptile is helpful during the grief transition… and making photo tributes is a loving way to remember the pet.
Two additional sweet coping strategies specific to reptiles include transforming the enclosure into a tribute either by placing a plant or photo inside, or keeping one of the objects from the cage as a keepsake.
And of course, finding community provides critical validation, especially if you’re a reptile owner without an in-person network of fellow reptile lovers. Communities can mourn with you when the pain is fresh and raw, and they’ll be there for you again should you ever be ready to open your heart to another sweet creature.
Thank you for this!
My first snake was brought for me as an 18th birthday present and he passed away at 27 years old and it was a huge loss for me as he was such a large part of my life.