I’ve been working on an early WebVR experiment inspired by the Rainbow Bridge poem: the idea that a pet you’ve lost is happy and content, waiting for you on the other side. It’s still rough, but the basic technical concept works. What I’m less sure about is whether taking it further would be a good idea.
The original curiosity was about making an experience more personal. Rather than building one fixed scene for everyone, could someone provide a photograph and a little information, and have that shape what they encounter in VR? A dog felt like an interesting place to explore that. Appearance is part of recognition, but so are character, habits and the way an animal approaches you.
The concept grew into a short visit. You upload a picture and describe your pet’s mannerisms and character. Within the story, the guardians of the space “find” them and open a temporary, fifteen-minute connection. You get to spend a little time together in a place where they are safe and content.
That story matters because the photograph can only take the technology so far. A familiar coat or shape does not make a perfect recreation of an individual animal. Trying to capture every small habit would be difficult, and something that looks familiar but behaves unexpectedly could feel very different from what someone hoped for. I would want the experience to be understood as a dreamlike, photo-inspired encounter, with clear expectations about what it can represent.
The thought behind it was a chance to say goodbye somewhere gentler. In real life, the final moments with a pet can be difficult, rushed or simply nothing like the goodbye you would have wanted. I wondered whether a quiet space, with time to sit together, might mean something to some people.
But that possibility is also what makes me hesitate. I can build a scene and decide how a virtual dog responds. I cannot decide what someone brings into the headset, what they expect to feel, or how they will feel when they leave. Something comforting for one person could be upsetting for another. The technical prototype gives me no evidence that it would help someone cope with loss.
One of the design ideas is to allow only three visits. The intention is to give the experience a beginning and an ending, with a gentle guardian helping guide the goodbye. I don’t want to build something that encourages an endless return. Even so, three is a design choice, not an answer: would a limit support that intention, or make the last visit harder? Would a timer feel reassuringly bounded, or put pressure on a moment that should feel unhurried?
The guardian raises similar questions. I imagine a quiet presence that gives a little guidance without intruding. It should leave room to explore, sit quietly or finish early. What I still need to understand is whether that guidance would feel welcome, and how much structure is appropriate in such a personal experience.
This is why I shared the idea while it was still unfinished. A working demonstration is a useful point to start a conversation, but it doesn’t settle whether the project should become something people use. Before moving beyond an experiment, I’d want perspectives from people with experience of pet loss and those who support people through it, as well as feedback on the interaction itself.
Most of my work involves asking what technology adds to a particular problem. This project makes that question much more personal. I’m interested in what VR can make possible, but I also need to understand whether the experience I’m making is one I should put into someone’s hands.