For weeks
after her death, as I worked in the yard, I expected to see Susie bound around
the side of the house to greet me in her own effusive way. It was so typical of her, as she frolicked
through the fields and woods that surround our home, to interrupt her
explorative sniffing to re-establish contact with me. At these times Susie would look up from her
current project and bound pell-mell across the grass, coming to a sudden halt
seated at my feet. She would fix me with
her inquisitive eyes and occasionally bark out some piece of news. Susie was a somewhat small, black and tan, shepherd-mix
dog and she had entered my life at a particularly difficult time about ten
years earlier. She was a devoted companion
to my daughter and a constant recipient of her affection.
Susie died from cancer, a
particularly nasty type of tumor that had insidiously invaded her vena cava,
the major blood vein in her body. For
weeks afterward, when I puttered in the yard, I often seemed to catch a glimpse
of her out of the corner of my eye, but when I looked up my gaze found only the
quaking leaves of poplar and sassafras trees and the empty yard that seemed to
miss her as much as I did. Susie visited
my dreams for some time, setting her gaze upon me, seeking affection. These visions were so real that when I awoke
I checked the floor beside my bed and found her usual spot vacant. I just couldn’t seem to wrap my mind around
the reality that I would not see her again.
I had traversed this grief before
and I reminded myself that the price of life is death, but the sense of loss
would only yield to time and, for the time being, emptiness prevailed. How many clients had I consoled during a time
of difficult grief? But the loss of a
friend and beloved companion is such that empathy for the bereaved is never the
same as being in their shoes.
The loss of a pet can leave one
feeling isolated, as if on an island, surrounded by a world that doesn’t
understand. Some people, especially non pet-owners,
may make insensitive statements, “It’s only a dog….” I recall that my great aunt, Dude, was
visiting once when my sister’s parakeet passed away. Honey (yes, that’s what we really call my
sister to this day), nine years old at the time, was inconsolable. Aunt Dude, witnessing my sister’s plaintive
wails, remarked to my mom, her staunch, German demeanor coming to the fore,
“That kid won’t cry that loud the day I’m
buried.” We loved our aunt dearly; she
lived well into her nineties, and was very ready to go when her time came. Her death was some years ago now, but I think
she actually was right.
A child forms a special bond with a
pet and the loss of that pet may be their first experience with the grieving
process. Although I am not a trained
child psychologist, I can state from years of experience that involving
children in the pet-death process can be of great value to them, especially
when euthanasia is involved.
Euthanasia is the humane, voluntary
ending of a pet’s life. It is performed
by the administration of a lethal injection.
The decision to euthanize a pet is the most difficult one an owner will
ever have to make, but it need not be a solitary one. Other family members, friends and your veterinarian
can help you to reach a decision of when it is time to euthanize your pet. I am frequently asked by clients who own
older animals whose physical or mental faculties are failing, “How will I know
when it’s time?” My response is that
there is no simple formula or cookbook answer.
But if your pet can no longer partake in activities he once enjoyed, or
if there is more pain than pleasure in her life, then it is time to think about
euthanasia. These may be subjective
assessments and a pet owner is often still in a quandary as to how to proceed.
I assure a client faced with this
dilemma that although the decision is a personal one, I will not let them make
a bad decision. If I feel, after
listening to an owner and examining their pet, that there remains a high
quality of life, although perhaps compromised to some extent by arthritis or
some other chronic illness, I will advise them of palliative, if not curative
measures that will delay the decision of euthanasia for the time being. If, on the other hand, I see inconvertible
suffering that will hardly be abated even with aggressive therapy then I tell
the client so and advise euthanasia.
But so many
situations lie in between, and the right path is just not clear. If, after discussing the facts with my client,
I find that they have put thought into their decision and still can’t see the
right path clearly, I tell them something like this:
“It is obvious to me
that you have struggled with this decision.
You have, in the process, put your own feelings aside and genuinely
tried to make the right choice for your pet.
The suffering you endure in your struggle is, to my view, the greatest
act of love you could perform for your pet.
Whatever you decide, either euthanasia, or the continuation of
palliative care, I am with you a hundred percent. It is at these times of indecision when we
sometimes feel helpless and inadequate, unable to grasp any decision that feels
right. But understand that the sacrifice
you are willing to make in allowing yourself to consider all aspects of the decision,
and not just those that are self serving, virtually guarantees that you will
make the right decision. However, you
won’t have the luxury of knowing it at the time.” (To anyone who has read M. Scott Peck’s book,
The Road Less Traveled, the above
will sound familiar.)
It never
feels good, and may not feel right, to choose to end your pet’s life. I have watched clients attempt to escape the agony
of making the decision in two different general ways. One, faced with an implacably suffering pet
with no chance of recovery may implore me, “Do everything you can, Doc. I don’t care what it takes. I’ll never give up.” Whereas another, who has a pet with a
relatively mild injury or illness, may say with despair, “There’s nothing that
can be done, he’ll only die anyway - best just to put him to sleep now.”
Neither of
these people is willing to suffer the discomfort of struggling with an
important decision regarding their pet.
They avoid the pain involved in that struggle. These are the most difficult for a
veterinarian to counsel. Such owners must
be gently introduced to reality and at times the task is impossible.
Caring for
a pet and taking responsibility for its welfare means not only throughout its
life, but in death as well. Taking a pet
into your home is always a bittersweet proposition. As I said earlier, death is the cost of life,
both part of the same continuum.
Happiness may abound but sadness is inevitable. We learn so much from our pets, both in life
and death.
No comments:
Post a Comment