I Euthanized My Dog
Five months ago, I had to make the painful decision of euthanizing Sasha, my most tenacious, sweet, and noisy pet dog. Sasha was a silky terrier, a breed so bent on digging holes and tearing up toys that I eventually gave up on getting her new ones. She liked the torn ones better.
Sasha was diagnosed with liver failure. And as all liver cases go, it was already too late when we noticed the constant regurgitating of food and bile juices. By the next morning after the vet visit, she had her first seizure in my arms. It was heart-wrenching to watch. Through that one-minute episode, I held her tightly to my chest, stroking her silky mane and telling her that everything was going to be alright. There was nothing I could do, and no way for me to share her pain so that she could feel a little less. All except for that one thing I could give her. Initially, I was ashamed that I even thought of that. The painless death of euthanasia.
We talked to the vet a little more, trying to capture that last ray of hope that there would be a ready cure, a magical pill to alleviate her of all suffering. There was none. All roads led to the same ending of force-feeding, hydration through IV, diapers, and Sasha leading a hopeless life on her cushion with no way out. My wife and I were ready to commit our time to make Sasha’s last days, months, or even years, comfortable.
This was a familiar situation, with us fostering a stray that the dog rescues picked up. Madam Bear, as we named her, was another pitiful case of abandonment. She was left with no strength in her legs when she was picked up, splaying whenever she tried to stand. At the end of her life, she was laying on her side most days, with us having to flip her every few hours. She would whine and howl when she was in pain in the middle of the night. We always wondered if she was confused and simply had lost her sense of existence.
I was a zookeeper for a good five years in my thirties before I gave it up for corporate life. I saw my fair share of euthanasia of animals we could have healed with more time, the ones that couldn’t be saved due to old age and those that the zoo simply chose not to keep anymore. I’ve said goodbye to more animals than I could imagine. It just makes things worse when the decision was not up to me ninety-nine percent of the time. It was a cut-throat business at the expense of these captive animals. I loved the conservation work and the individuality of each carnivore I’ve taken care of. But I just couldn’t sell my soul to the business of zoos.
As a keeper, we were indoctrinated to the acceptance of euthanasia. A wildlife vet once told me, that euthanasia was the best outcome of a bad situation for any living thing. It was, according to her, permanent sedation. Double the sedation It was a dark hole that you won’t know you fell into, and a deep sleep you are never going to wake up from. It will be nothingness. It will be peace.
Zookeeping taught me that euthanasia is an alleviation of pain. I love Sasha and there’s no way I would let her go without a fight. But my love would keep her alive, in pain. Is that really love?
Companion and captive animals are not born with the privilege of making their own decisions. They depend greatly on their human keeper. Keeping Sasha alive in pain because of my weakness of letting go, is cruelty at its purest form. For all of you who are in a decision-making knot right now, get this straight. Euthanasia is the most humane decision you can take to show your love for another helpless being that is suffering.
After saying our last goodbyes in tears, a groggy Sasha looked at us with her big round eyes, tongue drooping, and a tilted head. Those soulful eyes told me that she knew it was the last mile to the finishing line. On the cold metal table at the vet’s treatment room, we were ready. She was wrapped up in her favorite blanket when the injection was done. Alas, she slipped into a peaceful, eternal sleep.
A final whisper in the ear of every euthanized animal I cared for was made. It is my personal belief that Heaven is a made-up space our brains create when we die. And in this space, is where every person and animal you’ve ever loved will be waiting for you.
“I’ll see you there, Sasha.”
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