What is Euthanization?

Euthanization is the process of putting your pet “to sleep.” It has many euphemisms (a nice way of saying difficult things) such as “putting down” and “putting to sleep,” but the idea of it is killing your pet in the easiest way possible. It is generally used in cases where it is best for the pet, maybe it is in a lot of pain, or if the pet is old or sick. It is said to be very similar to falling asleep. The process involves the pet being injected with three drugs. The first drug makes them fall asleep. The second is used to put them so deep into sleep that their heart stops, and the third is to push all of the other eauthanizers into the bloodstream. The entire process, depending on the size of the dog, can be under a minute. It is quick and painless.

Background:

I had a small dog, a chihuahua. He was 13. The past 13 years of his life had been spent with numerous owners. As a tribute to him, I will tell you his life story as far as I know. He was a purebred Chihuahua, most likely from a breeder. An elderly woman owned him for the first five years of his life, and she had him trained, however he was not housebroken. He was the quietest Chihuahua I have ever seen. His name was Peanut.

After he turned five, his elderly owner had to move into a nursing home, and that’s where my family comes in. My 90-year-old great-grandmother put an ad in the newspaper looking for a small dog. His owner found it, reached out to my great-grandmother, and soon Peanut belonged to her. 

By seven years old, Peanut was forced to move in with new owners, my family. We frequently visited my great-grandmother to spend time with her and with Peanut. The following year she passed away. That was five years ago today (Monday, October 28, 2019). We have been his owners ever since. 

When Peanut turned 11, my other dog, Talon, had to be put to sleep due to a large softball-sized stomach tumor, which was the saddest thing I have ever experienced. However, I was not there to be with him as he passed. Just prior to Talon’s passing, Peanut had a run-in with kidney stones, nearly bringing him to his death. I can remember with vivid detail that day: we sat with him in a small room inside of the Metzger Animal Hospital. 

He had been there overnight for the previous two days, and it was late on a Friday afternoon. Just before his euthanization, a very helpful woman told us that there was a chance that he could live longer, and that one sentence changed an entire life that day. We decided to take him home, we nurtured him back to health, and he was able to have surgery the following Monday to remove the stones.

Now, for the next two years, he had been nearly ok, we thought. He was forced to start taking medicine twice each day, and he was suffering from something very common, an oversized heart. He had been on that medication for the next year. Throughout that time, his condition degraded slowly. He would have wild coughing fits, get a bloated stomach, and then it would go away. 

The Day

It started out like any normal day. We had all known it was coming, but I treated it like any other day. I had the last few months to realize that the “good old days” of playing, going on walks, and barking were over. This part is where it will differ for everyone, because everyone’s pet is different. This story is my personal and heart-wrenching experience with the euthanizing of my dog.

School was usual, most of the afternoon was usual, but it was sad. No one wanted to deny that, but we weren’t ready to start bawling yet. The place we were going to was an emergency vet and was not open until 7:00 PM. Seven rolled around, and we all knew what was soon to come. Around 7:30, we left. In the car, it occurred to me that I was carrying Peanut for the last time in my life. We arrived and I carried him in with my Mom, and we were led into a room. Nothing about this place was happy, and nothing about us was happy.

As my mom filled out paperwork, I sat, thinking to myself. You might hear things or have had experience with the fact that Animals don’t understand when something is dead or gone. It takes them a while to realize that someone or something is dead, and even though it isn’t known whether they are aware of the death. I think people are like that in a way as well.  It took me quite a while to accept that he was really going to be gone. It’s quite a hard thing to comprehend, death. You see someone or something so often, for so long. Then one day it just stops. It doesn’t make sense. You are used to something doing something, or something happening, but it doesn’t. It’s very tough.

It took me a long time to realize that he was going to be gone really soon. I still don’t quite feel like he’s gone; my brain just assumes that he’s in a different room. I looked into Peanut’s eyes, most of his irises were filled with clouds, mass expanses of swirling fog moving through his eyes, cataracts had taken a major part of his sight a long time ago. 

After all of the paperwork and payments were done, a kind woman walked into the room. In her hand were three syringes. She walked over and briefed us on what was about to happen. She told us about what each drug did. Once we told her we understood, she started hooking up the first syringe to the IV they had previously hooked into Peanut.

Very quickly he was asleep, his eyes wide open, within seconds after she injected the third she checked for a pulse and there was none. Looking into his deep foggy eyes, I couldn’t help but cry. The woman picked him up off of my mom’s lap, and as she walked out the door, I got a good look at his face for the last time in my life. It was so innocent. He probably didn’t even know what was going on as he drifted quickly into the deepest and best sleep he had ever had. On the receipt papers they gave us, there was a story about a rainbow bridge, and a large field with all the dogs restored to their strong and healthy younger selves, and one day your dog will run as fast as they can away from that field because they have spotted you. All I can do is wait and hope that that is true.