BEHIND CLOSED DOORS

A woman with an empty pet carrier was saying, "I didn't think about that." The veterinary technician with whom she was speaking sympathized about the difficult choices the woman was having to make, made some notes on a chart and disappeared behind a closed door. The woman drooped into a seat in the corner and wept softly to herself.

I watched the scene, one I'd had the misfortune to observe on prior visits to the vet's office. The woman was there to have a beloved pet permanently relieved of suffering and was waiting, alone, in the lobby while her dog or cat was euthanized.

I wanted to offer consolation, to wait with her, but my own sad memories kept me from making the gesture. I knew how she felt: doubting her decision; feeling guilt for things she might have done differently; wondering if, instead of sitting in her chair, she should have left completely, or, should have been in the room with her companion.

With the first pet I had to have euthanized, I prolonged the inevitable beyond the point of justification. Princess, my nineteen-year-old cat, weighed only three pounds by the time I decided medical treatment was not working and she wasn't going to die a natural death. To delay the heartbreaking event a little longer, I decided to wait a few more weeks and timed her departure with a move I was making.

On the scheduled day, I still couldn't face the prospect of losing my cat forever. Instead, I took her to my parents and asked them to do the deed for me. They obliged, and delivered Princess to the vet clinic, where they left her to face her death with only the veterinarian in attendance. The people she had loved - and who had loved her - were not with her when she died.

Years later, when my first dog began to wander aimlessly, wouldn't lie down or eat, and forgot her name as the result of a stroke, I knew it was once again time to have another companion euthanized. Guilt nagged at me over how I had avoided Princess' death, so I vowed to deal with the emotional burden more directly this time. I took my sweet and tender-hearted Sharris to the clinic, and signed the papers. Then I turned her over to the tech and sat outside on the porch, waiting to hear from the staff that she had passed on peacefully.

Once again my resolve had failed me and another beloved pet had died without the consolation of my presence.

Why wouldn't I be with them when they died? Did I want my last sight of them to be a living one rather than seeing their lifeless body as my final memory? Was I afraid? And of what? Seeing death first-hand? Was knowing that I was responsible for the moment and method of their dying what kept me from facing them then? Did I think that I had betrayed my pets somehow? Or was I just a coward? These questions kept popping into my mind, and finally, had to be answered about five years later when, within 10 days of each other, I was forced to euthanize two of my dogs.

Abel, was a young, Irish Water Spaniel, whose first two homes had been both abusive and neglectful. When I rescued Abel and gave him a loving home, he devoted his every breath to living for me. Despite his improved situation, Abel suffered from an untreatable brain disorder and euthanization was the only option for relieving his distress.

Like I had with Princess, I delayed the appointment. On the surface I believed I had to convince myself this was the right decision, but the real issue was making a commitment to being with Abel when he died. After the love and dedication he had given me, I was obligated to do the same for him. How could I do any less? Somehow, I would have to find the courage to take that final walk with him and watch him step from life to death.

When the time arrived I sat by Abel and petted him until he breathed his last. It was extremely difficult, but I'm glad I was there.

When Keisha, my old Afghan Hound and soulmate went into heart, kidney and liver failure from a massive coronary, I had to go through the ordeal again. She had never failed me and I was not about to let her down either. Just a few short days following the loss of Abel, I sat with Keisha while she left me and this life behind. It hurt deeply, but if I had waited alone in another room while she was euthanized, that would have hurt more.

What now allowed me to endure what was previously unbearable? A deliberate decision to see through to the very end my responsibility and commitment to my dogs and determination to fulfill this obligation no matter how great the effort.

If you feel you may not be capable of being present should the need arise to have your pet euthanized, there are some things you can do to help you take that final step with your companion.

* Talk to others who have been through similar situations. Let them share their experience of the event with you. Listen to how they benefitted from staying with their pet.

When Teri Robert, a web-designer from Washington, West Virginia, had to have her miniature poodle, Cherie, euthanized, she said, "I considered not staying with her because it was hurting me too much. I changed my mind because I didn't want her to be afraid. It hit me that it would be terrible to die afraid and without the person you loved most. She went to sleep and slipped away snuggled in my arms, licking my hands and knowing that I loved her. I learned from that."

* If you've had to euthanize a pet before and felt unable to stay with them, did you have regrets about not being there? Imagined guilt can haunt us forever, frequently intruding upon the good memories we have of our companions. Choosing to stay with your pet the next time may put a stop to future regrets.

* Call your veterinarian. Talk to them about your decision, get them to answer any questions you might have. Ask them to explain to you what you should expect and what will happen when you arrive. Tell them how difficult this is for you and ask for their support.

"Usually the procedure goes easier than most people imagine," said Dr. Tammy Smith, a veterinarian at Colonial Animal Hospital in Belpre, Ohio, "It seems to be helpful for the owners to be with their pet at the end. For some people, it provides closure."

*Give yourself time to prepare if the situation permits. Set the appointment when you can have another family member, friend or minister go with you. Allow time for a last walk or car ride with your dog if possible. Before going, mentally review what is going to happen so you can be ready to support and comfort your pet. If you are a spiritual or religious person, meditate, pray or read scripture or poetry to yourself (and your companion) before going.

* Remind yourself that your presence may make the procedure easier for your companion and calm the fears that they may have about being at the vet's.

* It's okay to cry in front of your pet - you won't be letting them down. They understand your tears are just another expression of your concern for them. Do let them know that it is not them but your impending loss and their illness, injury or debilitation that is the source of your distress.

* Speak to your dog the entire time. Explain that you don't want them to suffer anymore. Talk about happy times that you've shared. Tell them you love them and how much they have meant to you. Say goodbye and remind them that you will see them again one day at the Rainbow Bridge.

* Know that you've done the best you can do for your companion. Remind yourself that being beside them at their last vet's appointment is a loving way of telling them that everything possible has been done for their well-being and that with nothing but their best interest at heart you are sending them on a journey to free them from their pain.

* Allow yourself to grieve. Get the support you need from sympathetic friends, a psychologist, minister, or a pet-loss help line. Today's veterinarians are usually available to talk with grieving owners.

After my vet checked Keisha's heart and nodded that she was gone, he hugged me and with tears in his eyes said, "She was a good dog wasn't she? She was always there for you and you were here for her. I know you'll miss her." His simple, heartfelt words soothed my aching soul like balm. He knew how important this dog had been to me and sharing the passing of her life helped make some sense of her death.

Although being with these dogs when they died was emotionally intense, it was a positive experience that made me stronger, wiser and intensified my bond and commitment to my remaining dogs. When someone asks me what they should do, I advise them to be there. However, not everyone will be capable of remaining nearby while their pet is euthanized. "I never push it," Dr. Smith said, "I let people make up their own mind."
The weeping woman at the vet's office, waited until the technician re-opened the door behind which she had disappeared. She picked up her empty pet carrier and left, her head low and tears still falling from her eyes. The last memory she would have of her companion was that of a closed door creating a permanent separation between them.

Our dogs have been at our sides when we've been happy, as well as when we've been angry and sad. They have put up with our bad moods, our thoughtlessness, our illnesses. They would share our deathbeds with us without being asked. They've stuck with us at our very worst and offered us their acceptance, comfort and love with no reservations. For the steadfast loyalty that our companions have given to us, the last gift we can offer in return, is to stay beside them when they die.

"If someone is at all able to stay with their friend at that time, they should. I do understand those who can't but would hope that people would try," said Robert, "It was a blessing and a privilege to have these animals in my life. It was also my privilege to hold them through the end."

Behind Closed Doors