The first one I ever met of your kind was a beautiful ruby girl puppy. Because of her heart murmur, she’d been turned over to the veterinarian I was volunteering with. Her heart murmur indicated significant disease and, given the dog’s young age, the owner didn’t want to develop a relationship that would end quickly in heart ache. Years went by without seeing any more of your breed. Then I was a fourth year veterinary school student. Suddenly, your breed–the Cavalier King Charles Spaniel–was back in my life. Mostly I’d see Cavaliers like you on cardiology service where we’d perform echos (ultrasounds of the heart) or EKGs on your sweet breed. Those big brown eyes would look up at me and the tail would wag on every single one of those dogs. They were always so gentle and the wagging tail and kind eyes were filled with gratitude. “Thank you for helping me,” they seemed to say. Some dogs would grow impatient with the procedures, the handling, but not Cavaliers. With some reassuring words or a gentle pat on the head, the Cavaliers would…
As a veterinarian providing euthanasia at home, my heart is often heavy with the weight of the goodbyes. Writing even a little something helps in some way. We met in the bathroom. You weren’t able to stand and you didn’t even lift your head or wag your tail. That’s how I knew. A lab almost always musters a wag, or a lift of the head. Your dad held your paw and your grandmom spoke tender words to you. The first paw I’d seen held. So tender, it broke my heart. We met on your couch. Your nose was dry with crusts of discharge. Not because no one cared, their love for you was wide and deep, but they couldn’t clean you without hurting you. Your belly was swollen with the sickness that was taking you away. Your eyes met mine and you told me you knew it was time. We met on your kitchen counter. The sunlight was streaming in through the window and you curled up there, purring to say hello, purring through the fluid that filled your belly, your lungs, your skin. We met on your living room floor. Your paw was bandaged…
Yesterday was an incredibly sad day. For almost a year now we’ve had 2 ducks as part of our backyard ‘poultry posse.’ Our middle daughter, Kate, named the ducks Kiwi and Banana. We could always tell them apart as Kiwi had a bum leg. Her right leg turned inward pretty dramatically. At one point when she was a little duckling she wouldn’t even stand on her legs, she kept going down in a sitting position and seemed that she couldn’t really get herself around on her legs. Almost like the she could not extend the leg straight enough to help herself walk. After some google consulting (yes, even veterinarians can consult google), I learned that this is sometimes seen in ducks. They can have different nutritional requirements from chickens. The store we got Kiwi and Banana from had been feeding the ducklings the same food as the chicks. Being first time duck owners, we bought the chick feed they recommended and on we went. Now we know that ducks may need supplemental niacin or they can have what we saw with our Kiwi, a funny bowed leg or even 2 bowed legs…
Providing home euthanasia has been on my mind for more than 16 years, ever since my own beloved dog passed peacefully at home with help from a fellow veterinarian friend. I’ve now retired from the Army and have been providing home euthanasia for the past few months. In this short time, I’ve helped many families say goodbye to their dear pets. People often ask if it’s sad or difficult. The answer to those questions is a resounding yes, absolutely. Providing home euthanasia is sad and difficult both emotionally and physically. But that’s not how I respond to the questions, especially when asked while I’m in a home helping a pet, or if the questions come when I’m back to return a pet’s ashes. The answer I give is that it is an honor to help pets pass peacefully in the comfort of their own homes. This answer—that providing home euthanasia is an honor—captures how I feel about this aspect of veterinary medicine. It’s much more accurate than my replying that yes, providing home euthanasia is both sad and difficult. Being a home euthanasia veterinarian is more draining emotionally and physically…
Years ago when I was seeing pets in a clinic, we had a little Jack Russel terrier mix who came in often. Jack was like many terriers and enjoyed tearing things apart. He was also an overachiever and went on to eat whatever the thing was that he’d just torn to bits. Jack tore up his toys and ate the squeakers. He shredded up his dog bed and ate the fluffing. He went through the trash that his owner tried hard to keep away from him and ate everything, fresh or rotten, that he found in there. Each time Jack’s owner would bring him by for a quick check to make sure his belly was settling down okay. We were happy to interact with such a friendly patient and the owner appreciated the peace of mind that came from her short walk to the clinic. I appreciated the practice in palpating a belly, doing a physical exam, taking X-rays, and the overall pleasure that came with seeing an owner reassured that her beloved pet was doing well. Things got a little strange one day with Jack and his…