‘Old Thomas is crook, Pete. I think it’s time to put him down.’
The words were depressingly familiar as I listened to the owner of the old dog. We stood in my consulting room in our nice new clinic, purpose built in Blenheim, and one we were pretty pleased with.
Thomas was an old bichon frise and his owners Alan and Sue Ellen were distraught.
‘He can’t see a bloody thing. I can’t stand it,’ said Alan. They were stoic but terribly distressed.
I knew Thomas pretty well. I’d looked after him for a long time, and had realised he was losing his eyesight. He had cataracts in both eyes, and although his cornea were both clear, the milky cloudiness of his lenses, and the wide-open irises, told the story.
‘Is he eating?’ I asked.
‘Yes, but he bumps into things when we take him for a walk. It’s not fair.’ That was Sue Ellen.
‘Does he mess inside?’ Me.
‘Hell no, he’s too clean for that. He always goes outside.’ Alan.
‘Is he unhappy?’ Me again, as I listened to his heart. It was slow and steady, no murmuring valves, no irregular rhythm. I listened to his lungs: clear and healthy. I felt his abdomen, and checked his lymph nodes. All clear. His gums were a healthy pink, and Thomas himself seemed unconcerned. Like most dogs he wasn’t so keen to see the vet, but he was a cheerful little chap, and life was OK.
‘So, he finds his way outside. What’s he like in the garden?’ I probed further.
‘No problem there, he knows his way around.’
I knew this would be the answer. Many times I followed a similar line of questioning, and nine times out of ten, we came to the same conclusion.
‘He doesn’t need putting to sleep,’ I said quietly. ‘He’s a healthy happy dog who can’t see. But he’s got a nose which can smell things that you and I wouldn’t know about. He can find his way round home. Keep him there. He’s got a few years in him yet.’
Alan and Sue Ellen were a bit doubtful, but obviously relieved. They’d come to the clinic, steeled and prepared for the worst. Now they were taking their little mate home again. They were good solid folk and I knew they would give Thomas every chance.
And they did. Years later, I ran into them in Bunnings where they both worked. Alan told me that Thomas had indeed remained a happy and contented dog for several years until his natural time came.
Euthanasing a dog or cat was something I could never do lightly. Some vets don’t worry about it, but I always did, and like Alan and Sue Ellen, many owners really don’t want to do it either. They just think they are doing their furry friend a favour.
Many times I’ve seen strong men and women, including farmers, completely heartbroken when I gave their old friend the lethal injection, sometimes sobbing uncontrollably. The truth is we build up a tremendous relationship with our animals, whether they’re companions or working dogs. And because their lifespan is so much shorter than ours, we have to go through it time and again.
So I used to question most people pretty carefully when they made the appointment for a euthanasia. I’d like to think that over my career I might have given at least half of the doomed animals who came to me a longer life. In the majority of cases the owners were really grateful, but some were dubious, and a few downright angry. They didn’t want to spend any more money on their pet, and who was I to tell them it wasn’t necessary?
Well, tell that to a doctor, and while we as vets are fortunate to have the legal ability to euthanase, I never ever did it without a lot of thought, and often managed to change the client’s mindset.
If the dog was still eating, not messing inside, still wagging its tail, let’s look at this again. Sore leg? Let’s see why.
If it’s arthritis, we can help that.
Blind? Its nose is a wonderful and sensitive organ which lets the dog ‘see’ by smell.
And when it really was necessary, as I injected the lethal dose, and watched the animal gently close its eyes, I often found myself in tears with the family who loved their furry friend, or the farmer who was losing his best workmate.
I think I must be a soft bugger.