Sammy
| Sammy (full name Samson) came to us the day before Memorial Day in 2004. We were stationed at RAF Lakenheath, UK, and we saw him running around playing with some children. We asked them who he belonged to, and they said they didn’t know. We took him home and contacted the UK Pet Rescue service to get him back to his family. However, after a few weeks, no one claimed him. He had a broken back leg that had healed imperfectly (which later led to arthritis) and a case of mange, which left his back and hindquarters almost bare. This look reminded us of a lion and the loss of his hair reminded us of the Samson and Delilah story. So, when we decided to keep him for our own and give him a forever home, he became our Sammy, and soon became my Little Buddy–my best friend in the whole world. He was about 2 years old at the time we found him, so we considered his birthday to be that day each year. He was with us for 16 years, and was one of the brightest rays of sunshine in our lives. No matter how much we had to deal with at work, we always felt better when we got home to Sammy. He was such a little guy, but he had a huge heart, and was beloved by everyone he met. He came with us from England to my next (and last) base in Nebraska, and once I retired, he came with us to Colorado Springs. Although he was with us for a long time (for a pet) it seems so short, and over far, far too soon. Sammy, Mami and Tati miss you so much, and we feel such sadness each morning when we can’t pick you up in our arms, kiss your little head, and take you out in the backyard to do your business. We know it was time, and we know you have no more pain and suffering, even though we do for losing you. We love you, and we will miss you forever until we are together again. |
The Last Battle
The Last Battle
If it should be that I grow frail and weak
And pain should keep me from my sleep,
Then will you do what must be done,
For this — the last battle — can’t be won.
You will be sad I understand,
But don’t let grief then stay your hand,
For on this day, more than the rest,
Your love and friendship must stand the test.
We have had so many happy years,
You wouldn’t want me to suffer so.
When the time comes, please, let me go.
Take me to where to my needs they’ll tend,
Only, stay with me till the end
And hold me firm and speak to me
Until my eyes no longer see.
I know in time you will agree
It is a kindness you do to me.
Although my tail its last has waved,
From pain and suffering I have been saved.
Don’t grieve that it must be you
Who has to decide this thing to do;
We’ve been so close — we two — these years,
Don’t let your heart hold any tears.
— Unknown
Children and Pet Euthanasia
Choosing to euthanize a cherished companion animal is difficult enough for adults who are faced with such a horrible decision. What’s even harder for many parents is finding a way to help their children understand and accept the fact that the time has come to help the pet to die.
Trying to overprotect their children from grief, parents may make the mistake of overlooking, minimizing or avoiding altogether the pain caused by the death of a family pet. Sadly, in so doing they will have missed a valuable opportunity to teach their children a very powerful lesson in coping with the painful reality of death.
Whether the animal is a dog or a hermit crab, a cat or a goldfish, the relationship between children and their pets is unique and irreplaceable. Pet loss can be very traumatic to a child, depending on the important role the pet played in the child’s life: companion, friend, admirer, playmate, defender, love object, sibling, or confidante. When a cherished pet dies, the pain can be deep and enduring, and the trauma can result in feelings of insecurity, anxiety, anger, guilt, helplessness, distrust and fear.
Yet it doesn’t have to be that way. Children can be helped to cope effectively with this very difficult life experience, even when the death happens through euthanasia ~ provided that we consider what the pet means to the child, take into account the child’s developmental understanding of death, and carefully plan how the pet’s euthanasia is presented and conducted.
Here are some suggestions for helping children cope with the euthanasia of a pet:
Be open and honest. If the pet is terminally ill, death is pending and euthanasia is necessary, tell your children as soon as possible so they will hear it first from you and not from someone else. If they ever discover that you distorted the truth or lied to them, they’ll have a great deal of trouble trusting you again.
Offer basic, age-appropriate explanations, and be available for questions. Children need to know:
That grief is normal and necessary, and it’s all right to feel sad : “This is how we feel when someone we love dies.”
That it is the pet’s death (not something your children did or failed to do) that makes you sad: “Mommy and Daddy are very sad because . . .”
What “dead” means: “The animal’s body stops working and won’t work anymore.”
That death is not the same as sleeping: “When we sleep our body is still working, just resting.” Avoid the common phrase for euthanasia, “put to sleep” as it can trigger sleep problems or intense anxiety over surgery and anesthesia. Better to say the pet will be helped to die peacefully and without pain.
That the pet has not “passed away”, “left us” or “gone on.” Such phrases imply the pet is on a trip and will return, leave children feeling rejected or abandoned, or encourage them to go searching for the lost pet or hold out hope for its return.
Help young children understand why euthanasia is necessary: Explain that their pet may be suffering from:
Old age: “When an animal gets very, very, very old, his body wears out and stops working.”
Terminal illness: “Because the disease couldn’t be stopped, our pet is very, very sick; his body has worn out and has stopped working.”
An accident: “A terrible thing happened (hit by a car, etc.); our pet’s body was badly hurt and couldn’t be fixed. It stopped working.”
Avoid telling children that their pet was so good or so special that God wants it to be with Him in heaven. Children may become angry with God or fear that they (or you) will be chosen next.
Don’t blame the veterinarian. As a result your children may develop fear of veterinarians and other health care providers.
Include children in the euthanasia decision. Never euthanize a family pet without telling your children first, even if they’re away from home. Children need help in understanding why the decision has to be made and a feeling that they’ve participated in making it. They also need an opportunity to say good-bye and make the most of whatever time they may have left with the pet.
Prepare children ahead of time as to what to expect. Hold a family meeting and discuss the veterinarian’s diagnosis, the pet’s prognosis and the cost of treatments and care, including side effects and the pet’s quality of life. Schedule a visit to the veterinarian’s office to learn about the euthanasia procedure itself and answer any questions you or your children may have. (Find out in advance how it will be done and where; how long it takes; if the pet will feel any pain; whether the family can be present; what will be done with the pet’s remains afterward.)
Encourage children’s involvement in the pet’s euthanasia. Let them be present during the procedure if they so choose. The reality of a peaceful death is far less traumatic to children than their terrible fantasy of it. Encourage children to see their pet after death, which reinforces the reality and removes the mystery and fear of death.
Explain what will happen to the pet’s remains. If you plan to have your pet cremated, explain that your pet will be taken to a pet crematory, a place where the pet’s body will be turned into ashes. Then your family will take those ashes and (scatter them; bury them in the backyard; keep them in an urn; etc.).
Plan a memorial ritual. Decide in advance what you will do with your pet’s remains, how you’ll honor your pet’s life and keep its memory alive. Encourage activities to help your children experience and express their love and grief (drawing or painting pictures; compiling an album, scrapbook or memory box; viewing videos or home movies; writing or sharing memories; planting a shrub or tree; reading books on pet loss).
Respect and encourage your children’s needs to express and share feelings of sadness. When you bring up the subject, you’re showing your own willingness to talk about it. When in doubt about your children’s thoughts and feelings, ask. Don’t feel as if you must have all the answers; sometimes just listening is enough. Expect that young children will ask and need answers to the same questions over and over again. Don’t cut off their feelings by noting how well your children are handling their grief or how brave or strong they are. Let them see you upset and crying, which implies that it’s all right to cry for those we love and lose.
Respect the feelings of other family members. Recognize that not everyone in the family is equally attached to the pet and that not everyone shows their feelings or grieves in the same way.
Don’t get a new pet in an effort to replace this one. Getting a new pet too soon may imply to children that their grief is unimportant and unnecessary since everything is replaceable anyway (including the children themselves). They also may react with anger and guilt, rejecting the new pet and feeling disloyal to the one who died.
Inform others of what’s going on in your children’s life. Ask neighbors, teachers, relatives and friends for extra support and understanding of your children right now, and for help in keeping a watchful eye on them at this sad and difficult time.
A veterinarian’s view of euthanasia
“At the End of Life” is a collection of essays written by healthcare professionals, and family members about the decisions made for the dying. Reading this book recently I realized that there are many corollaries that can be drawn between the care we provide our patients, and the discussions we have with their owners, and the decisions faced by the families of the dying. Highlighted in all of the essays is the difficulty in finding a balance between what can and should be done.
As veterinarians we are in the unique position to offer euthanasia as a humane and reasonable option for our dying patients. However, as advances are made in the field of veterinary medicine, and life expectancy for our patients increases, we are faced with many of the same dilemmas as our counterparts in human medicine.
As a young, eager, and naïve intern in the trenches of the emergency room at the University of Pennsylvania I vividly remember my trepidation stepping in to my first euthanasia. I had never met the owners, I knew nothing about them, or their pet, and yet I was to become quickly involved in this difficult time intheir lives. What should I say? What happens if something doesn’t go to plan? How do I offer comfort and support? How do I respond if they ask me if they are doing the right thing? I turned to my supervisors and mentors for support, but ultimately I was alone with the owners in that small consulting room when the door closed.
I realized that all my lists of differential diagnoses, memorizing of tests to be run, and their interpretation; my shiny new stethoscope, and crisp white coat with the two letters “Dr” in front of my name were all woefully inadequate to prepare me for this moment. I don’t remember any courses at vet school addressing grief, communication with grieving clients, the process of euthanasia. I had stood in the corner of the room and observed euthanasia many times, had provided tissues, and comfort to the grieving, and yet when you are on your own these experiences provide little reassurance. As my role has changed from student to mentor over the last ten years it would seem that while advances in medicine have continued apace our training in these finer points of our daily practice remains rudimentary at best.
I feel privileged to provide a dignified end to suffering in my patients. Many, many times I have heard the statement, “this must be the worst part of the job.” In truth, to be able to provide this service to the exhausted and traumatized families of my dying patients, as well as to provide a dignified end for animals whose prognosis is grave is often easier than continuing to provide care in situations where you know the animal to be suffering and the outcome to be hopeless.
As a profession the line between what can and should be done becomes more poorly defined as advances are made–renal transplant and a life of medication administration with increased risk of opportunistic infections? Placement of a feeding tube in patients with an oral tumor? Administration of multiple pain medications to patients with severe osteoarthritis who can no longer get out of bed without assistance? Is our role to discuss the treatment options available, their likely outcomes, and their costs, or use our knowledge and skill to help our clients come to the right decision for their family, and their pet?
We all find where we feel the line in the sand should be drawn, and this position is likely different for all of us. As I think back over the hundreds of euthanasias I have performed and the many more conversations about euthanasia I have been part of, sometimes I wonder whether the right decision was made–Could we have done more? Should we have done more? I realize that even in the cases where I know the outcome may have been different if more funds were available, or if the owners were willing to provide more intensive care at home in all instances, the decision that was right at the time for that family was reached. I realize that I do not feel I have failed the patients who had treatable conditions, but happen to be in a family that cannot provide adequate care to sufficiently alleviate suffering for whatever reason. It is the patients I have seen die slow, sometimes agonizing deaths with progressively more aggressive interventions, where the prognosis is dire, and the owners not able to say goodbye that still haunt me.
–Suzy Fincham-Gray, BvetMed, BSc, DACVIM
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