Pet
Loss
The final act of compassion is
also the hardest
by
Michele Greene
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 I
ask myself, where does it go from here?
At 17, he is not going to have a miraculous
recovery. There are probably more things
I could do for him, medically and holistically,
but he is terrified of the car and more
terrified of the vet. He didn’t
like the taste of the last joint supplement,
and with his dementia any slight change
in his routine throws him off. If his
food bowl is not in the same place every
day, he forgets to eat. His world has
become very small and controllable, and
I cannot introduce new changes because
I do not want him to end his life struggling
to comprehend things that make him nervous
or frightened.
I have decided that I will make the decision
for euthanasia a little early, rather
than wait for the moment when there is
no other choice. It may be next week,
next month or it may be tomorrow. I do
not want to wait for a late night emergency,
for a heart-pounding, adrenalin-filled
rush to the veterinary clinic. I have
friends who know I am contemplating euthanasia
for Albert and they say to me, “Oh,
but he still has an appetite and he can
still get around.”
They’re right. When you are facing
a slow decline, euthanasia becomes a distinct
choice that you make, and you feel your
own omnipotence. But knowing that Albert
depends on me for everything, I know he
is also depending on me to prevent him
from suffering. It is a terrible privilege
but I have that power. As much as I struggle
with it, searching out the vet’s
number only to file it away again, in
my heart I would rather his final days
follow the same routine as in the past
few months. I would rather he fall asleep
in the shade of the big sun umbrella after
breakfast, and while he dreams of romping
in an open field, his spindly legs kicking
and twitching involuntarily, the vet can
give him the first shot so his final moments
merge seamlessly into his passage to the
other side. The hard part will be left
to me.
Letting our animals go takes so much courage
because we can see our own heartbreak
ahead. Euthanasia is an intensely personal
decision and only we know the right choice
for our pets and for ourselves. With the
other animals, I exhausted every option,
but remembering how Meg laid her head
in my palm, this time I will let Albert
go. In the end, I would rather do what
is harder for me than for him. It is the
final act of compassion I can give my
special boy.
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Published
in the June/July 2005 issue of Animal
Wellness
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