Jeannie
Super Moderator
I found this in the archives. I thought it would be good to bring it up again since so many of us are facing this question. I'm going to make it a sticky.
How Do You Know When It's Time?
I don't subscribe to the idea that dogs and cats "will let us know when it's time", at least not in any conscious sense on their part. They are not people. We lovingly anthropomorphize our pets during our time together and there's no harm in that, even quite a bit of reward for both them and us. But the bottom line is that they are not little people and they don't think in the way people think. (Many of us would argue that that speaks to the superiority of our pets.) These amazing beings love us and trust us implicitly. It just isn't part of their awareness that they should need to telegraph anything to us in order for their needs to be met or their well-being ensured. They are quite sure that we, as their caretakers, operate only in their best interest at all times. Emotional selfishness is not a concept to them and they don't know how hard we sometimes have to fight against it ourselves.
They also have no mindset for emotional surrender or giving up. They have no awareness of the inevitability of death as we do and they have no fear of it. It is fear that so often influences and aggravates our perceptions when we are sick or dying and it becomes impossible to separate the fear out from the actual illness after a while. But that's not the case with dogs and cats. Whatever we observe to be wrong with our sick pet, it's all illness. And we don't even see the full impact of that until it's at a very advanced point, because it's their nature to endure and to sustain the norm at all costs. If that includes pain, then that's the way it is. Unlike us, they have never learned that letting pain show, or reporting on it, may generate relief or aid. So they endure, assuming in their deepest subconscious that whatever we abide for them is what is to be abided.
If there is a "look in the eye", or an indication of giving up, that we think we see from our beloved pets, it isn't a conscious attitude on their part or a decision to communicate something to us. It's just an indication of how tired and depleted they are. But they don't know there's any option other than struggling on, so that's what they do. We must assume that the discomfort we see is much less than the discomfort they really feel. And we do know of other options and it is entirely our obligation to always offer them the best option for that moment, be it further intervention, or none, or the gift of rest.
From the moment we embrace these animals when they first grace our lives, every day is one day closer to the day they must abandon their very temporary and faulty bodies and return to the state of total perfection and rapture they have always deserved. We march along one day at a time, watching and weighing and continuing to embrace and respect each stage as it comes. Today is a good day. Perhaps tomorrow will be, too, and perhaps next week and the weeks or months after. But there will eventually be a winding down. And we must not let that part of the cycle become our enemy.
When I am faced with the ultimate decision about how I can best serve the animals 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 shots 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 my pet want to be here today, to experience this day in this way, as much as I want him to?"
Remember, they 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 the burden of illness this day, and does s/he want/need to live through this day with this burden of illness as much as I want/need /him/her to? If I honestly believe that this condition is such, their pleasures are sufficient, that he/she 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 s/he, with none of the fear or sadness that cripples me, would choose instead to rest, then my obligation is clear. Because s/he needs to know in her giant heart, beyond any doubt, that I will have the courage to make the hard decisions on her behalf, that I will always put his/her peace before my own, and that I am able to love him/her as unselfishly as she 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. She has chosen a life of healing animals and I know how terribly hard it is for her to give up on one. So I want to shoulder that burden with her so she'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 pet and the responsibility that I undertook on the day I welcomed THAT life into MY life forever.
-- Hilary Brown
Owner, VetPet Partners veterinary e-list
Reprinted by permission of the author
How Do You Know When It's Time?
I don't subscribe to the idea that dogs and cats "will let us know when it's time", at least not in any conscious sense on their part. They are not people. We lovingly anthropomorphize our pets during our time together and there's no harm in that, even quite a bit of reward for both them and us. But the bottom line is that they are not little people and they don't think in the way people think. (Many of us would argue that that speaks to the superiority of our pets.) These amazing beings love us and trust us implicitly. It just isn't part of their awareness that they should need to telegraph anything to us in order for their needs to be met or their well-being ensured. They are quite sure that we, as their caretakers, operate only in their best interest at all times. Emotional selfishness is not a concept to them and they don't know how hard we sometimes have to fight against it ourselves.
They also have no mindset for emotional surrender or giving up. They have no awareness of the inevitability of death as we do and they have no fear of it. It is fear that so often influences and aggravates our perceptions when we are sick or dying and it becomes impossible to separate the fear out from the actual illness after a while. But that's not the case with dogs and cats. Whatever we observe to be wrong with our sick pet, it's all illness. And we don't even see the full impact of that until it's at a very advanced point, because it's their nature to endure and to sustain the norm at all costs. If that includes pain, then that's the way it is. Unlike us, they have never learned that letting pain show, or reporting on it, may generate relief or aid. So they endure, assuming in their deepest subconscious that whatever we abide for them is what is to be abided.
If there is a "look in the eye", or an indication of giving up, that we think we see from our beloved pets, it isn't a conscious attitude on their part or a decision to communicate something to us. It's just an indication of how tired and depleted they are. But they don't know there's any option other than struggling on, so that's what they do. We must assume that the discomfort we see is much less than the discomfort they really feel. And we do know of other options and it is entirely our obligation to always offer them the best option for that moment, be it further intervention, or none, or the gift of rest.
From the moment we embrace these animals when they first grace our lives, every day is one day closer to the day they must abandon their very temporary and faulty bodies and return to the state of total perfection and rapture they have always deserved. We march along one day at a time, watching and weighing and continuing to embrace and respect each stage as it comes. Today is a good day. Perhaps tomorrow will be, too, and perhaps next week and the weeks or months after. But there will eventually be a winding down. And we must not let that part of the cycle become our enemy.
When I am faced with the ultimate decision about how I can best serve the animals 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 shots 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 my pet want to be here today, to experience this day in this way, as much as I want him to?"
Remember, they 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 the burden of illness this day, and does s/he want/need to live through this day with this burden of illness as much as I want/need /him/her to? If I honestly believe that this condition is such, their pleasures are sufficient, that he/she 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 s/he, with none of the fear or sadness that cripples me, would choose instead to rest, then my obligation is clear. Because s/he needs to know in her giant heart, beyond any doubt, that I will have the courage to make the hard decisions on her behalf, that I will always put his/her peace before my own, and that I am able to love him/her as unselfishly as she 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. She has chosen a life of healing animals and I know how terribly hard it is for her to give up on one. So I want to shoulder that burden with her so she'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 pet and the responsibility that I undertook on the day I welcomed THAT life into MY life forever.
-- Hilary Brown
Owner, VetPet Partners veterinary e-list
Reprinted by permission of the author