I always bring them home to bury and don't bury for 24 hours, so my lot always know.
The only thing that stops my pain, is to rescue another. I get comfort that animal is out of the system or saved, I am forced to start bonding/establishing rules. Settling squabbles, seeing little traits appearing. I am broken, but cannot indulge my desire to go to bed to cry and not get up. Even my dogs sadness/quietness is disturbed. Either they are excited at the new pal, or outraged and determined to establish their ownership of everything... In tears, I'll smile as Harriet collects a mountain of bones and sits in front of them. Beety grabs all the beds in a flurry of anxious ownership, and if it is female, Nala will be plotting it's gory death and I will be riding shotgun, heading off first signs and making sure the house rules that around here, chooks and cats have godlike status are set in concrete.