How Do You Do What You Do?

I have been asked many times how I do some of the things I do. Sometimes people mean the messy things, the odiferous things, the “gross” things.  Many times they mean the painful things. When the time has come when there is nothing more we can do for a pet, and the only humane thing is to help the owners let their pet go, end it’s suffering. It is never easy, but often it must be done. After years of experience, you wonder if you have become distant or immune to the pain. Then every once in a while, one such procedure opens your heart, and lets your emotions flow more than you ever thought they could. This often does wonders for one’s perception of oneself and of others as well.

One such example is one we see too often. I am reminded of a client who was a single man, rather rough and abrupt. When in the clinic he always spoke of his dog, Max in dismissive terms. He almost seemed to try to pass it off as a joke, but he appeared visibly angry with every visit. We had diagnosed Max with early liver failure, but had several treatment options available. We treated Max for a while and saw him and his owner frequently. When anything of consequence would happen or if Max required medical care of any level of expense, he would verbally blame and deride Max as if he had planned his illness. It really looked like the sicker Max was, the angrier the owner was with the dog. It was quite appalling at times, but we never said anything. He always did what was necessary, no matter how begrudgingly. We never saw him raise a hand to the dog, but the staff at that time was never happy to see his name on the appointment book and the older Max got, the more often we saw him. Then the day came when there was nothing more we could do for him and the appointment book showed the last appointment of the day was Max for a euthanasia. Throughout the appointment and the procedure, the client continued his angry attitude, seemingly directed at Max. After everything was done and we left the room, the entire clinic could hear the gut wrenching sobs of the client. It has been very seldom in my life when I have heard such raw sorrow and despair. We could see him through the small window, laying over Max, visibly shaking with grief, repeatedly saying “I’m so sorry I couldn’t do more Max.” There wasn’t a dry eye in the clinic and everyone finished the day in almost pure silence. Looking back I think his escalating angry behavior was how he expressed his increasing frustration with his pet’s condition. 

Sometimes children, in their raw innocence, can surprise us with their perspectives, and can open our eyes. I see this randomly as well. There was a family who had brought in their Lab, Jake for euthanasia. The parents had brought their eight year old son with them to the appointment. I think they wanted to use the event as a teachable moment for their son. (I see many families struggling with explaining death to their kids, and the loss of the family pet often gets used to “get their feet wet” and open the door for further discussion on the matter.) After Jake had passed, the family had shed their tears, and the parents were ushering the son out of the room. The boy surprised his parents, and the rest of us, with his next move. He turned to Jake and pulled a beat up tennis ball from his coat pocket. He placed the ball next to Jake’s head and said, “Here you go Jake. Now you and Grandpa can play fetch again like you used to.” The tears started anew. I think their son figured out more than the parents ever suspected.

Both of these examples like so many others, helped me see the value in that particular service that I am sometimes asked to offer: the release it gives to some, the peace it gives to others.

It shows me that the love people feel for their pets is just as strong and just as important as the love they feel for other people and family members.

It shows me that the pain they feel at the loss of their pet is very real. 

It shows me once again the incredible strength of the human-animal bond, and my part in helping to maintain that bond.

That is how I am able to do what I do.