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How Do You Know When It's Time? I don't subscribe
to the idea that dogs "will let us know when it's time", at least not
in any conscious sense on their part. For one thing, I've found in
my years of counseling folks who have ill pets and often accompanying them
through the euthanasia process, that this notion is often interpreted in a way
that puts a lot of pressure on people when they're already stressed and
grief-stricken. "What if I miss the signs? He looked miserable
yesterday but not today. What if I act too soon or not soon enough?
How could he ever let on that he wants it to end? But maybe I'm deluding
myself that he feels better than he does." When I am faced with the ultimate decision about how I can best serve the animal I love so much, I try to set aside all the complications and rationales of what I may or may not understand medically and I try to clear my mind of any of the confusions and ups and downs that are so much a part of caring for a terminally ill pet. This is hard to do, because for months and often years we have been in this mode of weighing hard data, labs, food, how many ounces did he drink, should he have his rabies shot or not, etc. But at some point it's time to put all of that in the academic folder and open the spiritual folder instead. At that point we are wise to ask ourselves the question: "Does he want to be here today, to experience this day in this way, as much as I want him to?" Remember, dogs are not afraid, they are not carrying anxiety and fear of the unknown. So for them it's only about whether this day holds enough companionship and ease and routine so that they would choose to have those things more than anything else and that they are able to focus on those things beyond any discomfort or pain or frustration they may feel. How great is his burden of illness this day, and does he want/need to live through this day with this burden of illness as much as I want/need him to? If I honestly believe that his condition is such, his pleasures sufficient, that he would choose to persevere, then that's the answer and we press on. If, on the other hand, I can look honestly and bravely at the situation and admit that he, with none of the fear or sadness that cripples me, would choose instead to rest, then my obligation is clear. Because he needs to know in his giant heart, beyond any doubt, that I will have the courage to make the hard decisions on his behalf, that I will always put his peace before my own, and that I am able to love him as unselfishly as he has loved me. After many years, and so very many loved ones now living on joyously in their forever home in my heart, this is the view I take. As my veterinarian, who is a good and loving friend, injects my precious one with that freedom elixir, I always place my hand on top of his hand that holds the syringe. He has chosen a life of healing animals and I know how terribly hard it is for him to give up on one. So I want to shoulder that burden with him so he's not alone. The law of my state says the veterinarian is the one licensed to administer the shot, not me. But a much higher law says this is my ultimate gift to my dog and the responsibility that I undertook on the day I welcomed that dog into my life forever. --
Hilary Brown |
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