Tack-sharp exchanges between caregivers, loved ones during a pet’s fourth life stage beg for understanding

I often come into a family’s life at a time that’s fraught with fear of the known and unknown, sadness, murky territory.

Did I mention tension? 

That kind of strain is so pervasive in the area of the fourth life stage and end-of-life. And when it involves our pets, it can be very complicated. No matter if there is one human involved, or multiple members of a family, the tension is expected. It’s an understandably scary time. In my years working with families finding themselves walking in what some have initially characterized as quicksand, bearing witness to words being tossed like the harshest of barbs is par for the course. 

Recalling a stern warning from the instructor at the helm of the professional end-of-life doula training that I took part in years ago, I thought, ah... I recognize that.

“You should not be tolerating verbal abuse in the course of your work...” 

And the instructor is absolutely correct: as a professional, as a human being, I need not indulge other’s inclinations to dole out verbal abuse toward me. That kind of thing is never okay. And it’s not accepted. But—yes, though it can be seen more of an excuse, rather than an explanation in some cases—I feel it’s important to stop and look at an exchange that falls short of what someone might normally expect from themselves with some context. And without ego. 

Let’s face it, none of us are perfect. And when we’re in a stressful situation, especially navigating a pet’s fourth life stage, we need to cut ourselves and each other a little slack. There are going to be barbs carelessly tossed about in a tense moment, whether that’s toward a loved one or even a member of the professional team on board to support us.

And so, I take the words from one wise human who learned them from another before her as an offering: the late Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg “...it helps to be a little deaf”. Though she noted this sage advice in the context of marriage, I find it very useful in my work with families who are navigating their pet’s twilight or fourth life stage. The families find it useful, too. 

There are a few things that I keep in mind as I walk with a family during their pet’s fourth life stage. They really help me maintain perspective and guide these families. There’s a fair amount of fear about the known and the unknown for what lies ahead, not to mention anticipatory grief. The differing vantage points and relationships with each loved one, including the pet, have weight—no one wants to see a loved one struggle or suffer. Past experiences in coping with diagnoses, doctors, death and grief are unquestionably influential. Caregiver burden can most definitely allow those sharp words to escape more easily. 

No one is immune to these emotions and biases.

The most crucial thing I keep at the forefront as I’m encountering a stressful exchange between loved ones, I remember that everyone involved cares very much about the pet at the center, and wants the best for them. That’s something that I wholeheartedly remind families when they feel the sting of wayward comments from members of their tribe. In most cases, it’s better to give that person a pass, let the comments slide and offer some grace and tenderness. (And as a second strategy, use some thoughtful, genuine curiosity. That other person likely needs to be seen, heard and acknowledged.) After all, none of us are immune to needing a healthy dose of that in the midst of an important time of life like our pet’s fourth life stage.

Lorrie Shaw has trained as an end-of life doula and earned her certification in Pet Loss and Grief Companioning in 2017, which qualifies her to work in a professional capacity with families coping with the emotional toil with pets in end-of-life, as well as individuals seeking professional Companioning in their journey through pet loss and grief. She's a member of the International Association of Animal Hospice and Palliative Care, National End-of Life Alliance and Association for Pet Loss and Bereavement. She can be found at lorrieshaw.com, and tweets at @psa2.

Pet Loss and Grief Companioning professionals: a viable 'third' option for families to seek support from after a pet's death

One afternoon many years ago, when I was having a conversation with one of my families after their pet died, I heard a response to something I offered in an effort to be 'helpful'. What I didn’t realize is the exchange helped me to see grief very differently, and it eventually pushed me further along on a unique path that led me where I am now.

I have no interest in listening to other people talk about their experience losing their pet, about their grief…

This resonated with me deeply. At first I thought it was just me because I tend to be exceedingly private about my personal life, and that includes anything regarding the deaths in my midst. Understanding that, in looking back I’m not even sure why I even suggested that a pet loss support group meeting might be helpful to this person. I know now that was widely accepted as just what was available, accessible to those grieving the loss of a pet. I’m better equipped, today.

People in pet loss support groups… they’re focused on their grief -- as you would expect. How can I go there and have an expectation of being seen, heard, understood in what I’m going through by others if they’re grieving? And I certainly can’t be expected to support them. I don’t want to. I’m too caught up in what’s going on in my own head to do that.

Oh boy. I can remember uttering those words years later in my own grief. Or at least thinking them. And fast forward years later, I know why they came so easily to that person -- and me. My intuition was good back then, and I’m grateful that I followed it, eventually.

We are generally pretty instinctive about how we need to move through our grief, we just need the right space and environment to do it. It’s when we don’t have that, when we are told the only option we have to have any sliver of a chance in having our grief seen and heard is to share grieving space with others, and in many cases, before we’re ready.

We all have a different set of tools and skillset in our toolbox to be with our grief, to navigate through it. And of course that’s true -- we’ve unique experiences with death, various types of loss, and grief, well… grief can be a shapeshifter of sorts. It assumes any form that it can take, to be heard, seen, acknowledged in, which for many of those who I’ve served over the years, can be disconcerting. It’s resilient like that, grief. It demands to have a front row seat, to be in your lap. Or at least sit side car.

Our culture is so grief-resistant, grief-repellent even, that if we see, hear or feel someone that is navigating the death of a loved one (or become aware that it’s happening), and this is especially true with disenfranchised grief, like that due to the loss of a pet -- we’ll find any way to push it, and them -- away. And so, until not so long ago, those wading through grief from the loss of a pet felt like they had no choice but to huddle together in groups designed just for them. Or, as I’ve seen in my ongoing training, they might be directed to talk to a mental health professional. Yes, people who are expressing normal grief because they’ve lost an animal companion are being referred to pet loss groups, and if they indicate that they’re not down with participating in a group setting, they are often at best referred to a list of mental health professionals to contact, if they’re not ignored altogether.

What’s often interpreted by the grieving when that occurs?

They feel dismissed. They feel like the only place their grief is allowed to come out to breathe is with another group of people who are grieving too. Or they come away feeling like their grief is a pathology. And for those who have the desire to get defensive about making those recommendations to the grieving, please don’t shoot the messenger. This is feedback that I’ve gotten from families over the years.

And we need to be clear: grief is not a problem, not a pathology. Grief is normal. We all experience it. Yes, even when our pets die. (That said, in less-common cases, like those involving complicated grief, the involvement of a mental health professional is beneficial.)

What seems to be the missing from this conversation? Certified Pet Loss and Grief Companioning professionals.

As those professionals, my colleagues and I trained in the art of being fully present to those grieving the loss of a pet -- not to assess or fix them, give them a road map, or resolve their grief. Our role is that of a bereavement caregiver, tending to those grieving and doing so without judgement, shame, grief ranking, or a prescription on how to grieve. We walk with the grieving. We hold space for them. We have earned the right -- earned the trust -- to hear the stories of those we serve.

The Companioning philosophy, developed by Dr. Alan Wolfelt, serves the grieving in a way that is antethetical to what can be more commonly seen in our culture -- as those who need to be ‘treated’. As you might have guessed, Companioning started out as a philosophy designed to be helpful to those mourning the loss of a human, and later, was scaled to meet the needs of those navigating pet loss. That doesn’t mean that one is more or less valuable than the other, rather it recognizes that the two experiences can be very different. One of the things that probably comes to mind in how that’s so is that euthanasia is in many cases a part of the landscape in pet loss, and that’s so very true.

Though we are trained to lead pet loss groups, many Pet Loss and Grief Companion professionals, like myself, find it more useful to offer our expertise by way of one-on-one time. In that format, the grieving person can have as much space as they need and express themselves freely, unencumbered. They are able to have themselves and their grief be heard, seen and acknowledged. We walk with those who have shared life with their pets who are either approaching their end or already have (anticipatory grief is just as gripping as the grief after a loss): yes, some people seek the help of a Pet Loss and Grief Companioning professional as they are navigating their pet’s later years not only when pets receive a life-limiting diagnosis or are wading through the fourth life stage. Those being Companioned also learn how to craft space for themselves, to advocate for themselves when they are faced with everyday situations where they don’t feel as supported as they should at work, home and elsewhere. Because quite honestly, not having interactions with others isn’t always a workable option -- and why should anyone have to wear a brave face constantly because their grief makes other people feel uncomfortable?

Pet Loss and Grief Companioning professionals bridge the gap that seems to exist when we lack the space to really be seen and heard in our grief by those in our midst, and with what else is available: pet loss groups and mental health professionals. The former isn’t conducive to moving through grief, and for many, the latter two aren’t necessary or useful. The truth is, as is evidenced by my experience in working with individuals in families after their pet’s death, the reason that things can get difficult as we grieve is that there is no healthy, natural atmosphere to give one and their grief the space they need -- or that space is squashed. Companions, whether we’re certified to work in a capacity associated with pet loss or that with the loss of a human, help create that space. And we’re experts on understanding that the real expert on grief, is the one experiencing it. Companioning doesn’t involve there, there attitudes or oh, I feel really bad for you, here… you should do this to feel better. It’s not sympathy, but empathy; it’s ...yes, this loss that you’re experiencing? It’s very real and hard and I can’t take it away, but I’m right here with you as you move through it.

Ahh yes, bearing witness.

Pet Loss and Grief Companioning is about working in our culture at-large to dismantle or at least weaken the notion that the grief over the loss of a pet somehow ranks lower than that of a human, that it belongs squarely in the category of disenfranchised grief, where it often sits now.

As Companioning professionals, we understand the essential needs of the mourning, and the importance of ritual in grief and how art, writing and other forms of creativity can be an expressive outlet for adults and children alike. Those whose focus is on pet loss understand how other family pets might be affected by a housemate’s death.

That said, most Pet Loss and Grief Companioning professionals are in some way tethered professionally or work in the trenches in the veterinary or pet care industries, though not all are.

After several years as a Certified Professional Pet Sitter, I had witnessed many an instance when one of my charges died, and their families were left with the kind of grief that only another that faced pet loss would recognize. I’d also experienced the loss of a companion animal -- three times in as many years, not to mention the death of my father not long before. What kept resonating through that journey is that grief deserves as much care and tending as new love (one won’t exist without the other, of course), and we don’t tell people to please get over your happiness, so why do that with grief?

And so, I made the decision after these experiences and others (including training as an end-of-life doula for humans, refining my hard and soft skills in working with pets who are in fragile health or dying and their families) to get more curious about what comes before, during and after a loss. My curiosity has proven to be a valuable asset, because that is essential to the Companioning philosophy. After discovering the Companioning model years ago, I decided to do the work of studying Pet Loss and Grief Companioning and earning my certificate under Coleen Ellis -- who herself graduated from Dr. Wolfelt’s grief studies program -- so that I could better serve my families and other individuals navigating through fresh or ripe grief after the loss of their beloved pet. And then I got more curious. I had more questions. And I studied and learned more about loss, grief, and how guilt, shame and judgement so easily swoop in as uninvited guests from outside and in and try to crowd out what’s really important as we mourn: being able to freely express ourselves when we need to in grief and being seen and heard as we do so. And I realized that my work as a Certified Professional Pet Sitter specializing in palliative, hospice and end-of-life care support allows me to have a unique perspective on loss and grief with the time I spend in the trenches, seeing what unfolds during these times of life, which is very much profound, intimate and personal for families.

It goes without saying that it seems logical for those mourning the loss of a pet to seek support in navigating their grief to gravitate toward a pet loss support group. It’s not uncommon for that bereaved person to mention to their pet care provider or veterinary practice staff that they are feeling the effects of a pet’s loss. It’s equally often the case that those professionals refer the person to a pet loss support group or a mental health professional.

And it’s important for all of them to know that while those are viable options and a fit for some, they are not the only ones. Certified Pet Loss and Grief Companioning professionals are capable and highly-skilled in pet loss bereavement care and offer it using a philosophy that honors the grief journey, without seeing it as something that needs to be ‘treated’; we walk alongside the grieving person. As I say frequently in my work -- in borrowing a quote from Ram Dass -- “...we are all just walking each other home.”

For more on connecting with a Pet Loss and Grief Companioning professional, click here.

With over 20 years of experience in pet care and the past 10 of those focused on animal hospice, Lorrie Shaw is a Certified Animal Hospice Practitioner, Certified Hospice and Palliative Care Advocate and Certified Fear Free Professional. She is CXO of Telos Companion Animal Services, LLC. She can be found at lorrieshaw.com.

Episode of 'Griefcast' explores pet loss and grief, offers insight to those who are alongside the grieving

Conversations are unquestionably expansive in my work with families as a Certified Pet Loss and Grief Companion, and each of those that I have cement the notion that companion animals are an important facet of people's lives.

We build lives with our pets, as well as memories. Pets somehow become markers for significant events in our lives and it's no wonder: we spend more time with them on a daily basis than we do other family members, and for years on end.

I was super-amazed by a deep-but-lighthearted conversation between comedians Michael Legge and Cariad Lloyd on the latter’s podcast, Griefcast. I stumbled on it by accident, by way of a totally unrelated podcast but I digress. Serendipity. If you are grieving your loss of a pet, recent or long-since, I’ve no doubt you’ll be able to relate on so many levels. Lloyd gets grief and instinctively knows how to get to the spaces-in-between questions that matter and Legge expands beautifully on his life and the end-of-life journey and after with his dog, Jerk, who died in 2017.

In speaking about the death of his aunt, and how it differed from the death of Jerk, Legge said, "I didn't take care of my aunt for 12 years. I didn't look after her every single day. I didn't like, come home every night—especially after the bad gigs—and you know, my aunt wasn't there wagging her tail and delighted to see me."

That's just one example that illustrates why the death of a pet can hit so hard.

Bonus: if you’ve a human in your life that’s grieving the loss of a pet and you just don't 'get it' but really want to, this conversation could very well enable you to gain some insight. Oh, so good.

Click here to go directly to the episode.

Lorrie Shaw is a Certified Professional Pet Sitter, Certified Pet Loss and Grief Companion, and owner of Professional Pet Sitting, where she specializes in ancillary pet palliative and pet hospice care. She's also a member of Doggone Safe (where she completed the Speak Dog Certificate Program), as well as the International Association of Animal Hospice and Palliative Care, Pet Sitters International, Pet Professional Guild, International Association of Animal Behavior Consultants (supporting member) and Ann Arbor Area Pet Sitters. Lorrie can be found at lorrieshaw.com. She tweets at @psa2.

Indifference, lack of support from others after losing a pet can stem from hidden stories

That flush of emotion -- one that can encompass anything from sadness, a void, a breathlessness even confusingly accompanied by a catch of vibrant joy after recalling a fond memory -- is sometimes familiar, at other times, surprisingly less so, equally gripping and can hit any time. It’s that emotion that comes with the grief after the loss of a loved one. Loss that is recent, anticipated or is one that has had a chance to cure a bit with time or tending. The accompanying grief that inextricably links us as part of the human experience can just as easily isolate those that it’s touching if it doesn’t really register on the radar of loved ones, friends, those that we work alongside, the world-at-large.

The interesting thing about loss and grief is that neither seek approval from anyone. The pair swoop in without being summoned, and we’ve no choice but to go along with them when they arrive. There’s really no point in which grief from loss -- especially loss sprouted from death, loss has many roots -- is equidistant to any time frame or stage of life. In fact, there is no timeline at all for it, despite what some think.

Having experienced this myself and in accompanying others through their grief, there’s no doubt that this is an especially challenging misconception to hurdle in our interactions with others after losing a pet. It seems that it’s easier to understand the loss itself to be so gutting -- it’s so black and white, so tangible -- but it’s that lack of approval that grief seeks that seems to trip people, the grieving and those around them, up. Grief is cloudy, so murky, subjective even. Because grief isn’t always recognizable, because of some of our less-than-healthy relationships to it, fears about what it is or isn’t and most importantly, how it should proceed, it can be the default when around a grieving person to say well-meaning-but-off-the-mark things, to even have a dismissive attitude or worse. I recall one woman, who I know to be impossibly caring quip, "Well, we all have to go sometime..." after my dog, Bruiser died from cancer. This was odd, coming from her but later, I came to understand the flippancy of her comment better.

There’s so much chatter about what not to say to someone who is grieving a pet, what to say to them, and a lot of it is helpful information. In their defense, it can be tough for someone who doesn’t “get it” or hasn’t been afforded the luxury to, to get it right. And, in my experience, those grieving the loss of a pet often don’t feel empowered to own their process, to express what they need.

Do you see the gap there?

Instead, when we’re grieving, the advice we often hear is to stay away from those who aren’t as understanding or supportive as we’d like, at least for a little while. And that’s fine in theory, but the fact is that in practice it’s more tricky; we have professional and familial ties to others, not to mention that in general, life doesn’t stop and avoidance isn’t a good strategy. To soften those uncomfortable interactions for ourselves, we often defer to the other person. Sure, that can be a quick way to get through a moment, but time after time after time, it can wear on us -- and it really doesn’t make future interactions easier as we grieve.

What I’ve discovered in years of writing about the human-animal bond (and more importantly, listening to reader comments), working with families with pets and as a pet loss and grief companion, the idea that often, in our own haze of grief, the ones with the most indifference, the purveyors of biting, off-the-mark comments are the ones who are hurting as much as we are. Yes, sometimes, our grief tears off the proverbial scabs of their own disenfranchised, buried, and silent grief. Like the ones that belonged to the aforementioned woman, as I learned.

Does that mean that we stuff our grief? I offer, a resounding no! -- quite the contrary. Instead, tread thoughtfully, mindfully through your grief process during interactions with others.

Don’t be afraid to say to another person when you’re having a tough moment, hour, or day that when they are having difficulty in navigating something important to them, that you hope that you’re extending the kind of consideration they need to do that better. Be fearless in articulating how your grief is very much a testament to the relationship to your pet -- another living being that you spent each day with -- and that their confusion about it can make it tough to relate, but surely they’ve a close relationship that’s been impacted by death and that must resonate on some level. The comments with regard to euthanasia can be especially cutting, and it’s no wonder: in my experience, it’s the single most sensitive issue surrounding a companion animal’s end-of-life, especially for those who have avoided it, had a poor euthanasia experience, or if there is a sudden illness or accident necessitating it. It’s always fitting to express with sensitivity, the notion that yes, having a veterinarian’s help to helping your pet go to peace might be or is or was necessary, and that you’re grateful that your final act of love for them was an option.     

Is everyone that you encounter wrestling with their own buried grief with a pet as you make your way through your own? No. But I will say that our culture doesn’t have the healthiest relationship when it comes to loss and grief. And pets have a way of drawing us humans closer to that edge of profound emotion than anything else on earth with their ability to form social bonds and life cycles that move far too quickly from curious, young creatures to the mature sages that we envy. And the latter, no matter our feelings about pets, magnifies our collective uneasiness with mortality. So again, be unapologetic and brave about your grief after losing a pet, and bear in mind that the person who seems to be the least supportive of it may actually draw the support and resilience that they sorely need to reconcile their own sense of loss in your doing so.

With over 20 years of experience in pet care and the past 8 of those focused on animal hospice, Lorrie Shaw is a Certified Animal Hospice Practitioner and Certified Fear Free Professional. She is CXO of Telos Companion Animal Services, LLC and can be found at lorrieshaw.com.

Sedating a pet for euthanasia brings the concept of 'a good death' full circle

By my own admission, I focus on end-of-life and the process of death with both humans and companion animals a lot. As one who has come to specialize in caring for senior and geriatric pets -- especially dogs -- I find myself walking alongside families as they navigate these periods of life with their pets. I’m okay with that, and I do it because I have a desire to. Pets, just like humans deserve to die with as much comfort and support as possible.

Though I had a few experiences with client’s pets meeting the end of the lives in the year’s past, in 2011 I had a deep dive into the lives of two other families. As a freelance writer for AnnArbor.com, I covered their journeys with end-of-life care and home euthanasia, which were both facilitated by local house call veterinarian Dr. Cathy Theisen. The power and intimacy of those conversations is still not lost on me.

Before too long, I’d be in the midst of death much more closely and with rapid-fire succession. I would see my father through his end, as cancer had its cruel way with him. A year later, one of my dogs would meet the same fate after some hospicing and by 2015 and 2016, I was immersed in the hospice and end-of-life care with my two remaining pets, who were in advanced age, with the help of Dr. Theisen and Dr. Monica Turenne. Those experiences don’t count the many that I've been, to varying degrees in the midst of with charges and their families (yes, the humans, too).

Inexplicably, I haven't felt the urge to run in the opposite direction during any of it. Quite the contrary, in fact. I’ve become very familiar and yes, more comfortable with death, even seeking out educational opportunities to help me navigate death and dying in a professional capacity; I’ve leaned into it, for lack of a better phrase, knowing that if I want to work with animals and their families, it’s a profound and normal part of the calling. I’ve been fortunate enough to be surrounded by professionals who have paved a compassionate path. Shying away when the topic of euthanasia comes up doesn’t seem natural to me. The Greek etymology of that word: eu = “good” and thanatos = “death” may seem like an oxymoron to most, and I understand.

My intention of giving my own pets a peaceful passing, whenever that was to be, was months in the making and by all accounts, a positive encounter. And I was all-too-aware that euthanasia might be a part of that. There was help from both doctors and other professionals to ensure that my pets and I were advocated for.

But that’s not so with everyone. And why that’s the case, is complicated.  

In my writing and my hands-on encounters, there hasn’t been another topic that has incurred as much controversy and emotion as euthanasia. And because of my experience, it’s easy for me to understand why. It’s due in part to the notion that concluding that euthanasia is the best option in a given situation -- when all of the physical, emotional, medical, financial resources (or any combination thereof) at our disposal have been exhausted -- is by all means, a huge one. It’s a sensibility of, ‘here we are’. When faced with the limitations that exist, a family might feel like they’re giving up, falling short. (They’re not.) Coming to that crossroads, let me tell you: it’s the most mind-numbing, raw experience you’ll face with a pet.

Past experiences with euthanasia often color one’s decisions about what they want for their pet; they can be empowered by them, they can feel like they’d want to do things a little differently or even be paralyzed by them. The absence of having previously traveled the path of losing a pet doesn’t often offer a buffer of comfort. That can feel like diving into the deep end of the ocean -- at midnight.

One person’s experience with the process of euthanasia highlights a common situation:

After my last pet died -- they were euthanized at the vet’s office -- I know that I couldn’t go through that again. It was too traumatic, for them, and for me. They were stressed, afraid, and yes, feeling the effects of their end-of-life because the drugs were no longer enough. Getting to the clinic was hard, but even worse, was seeing the tension and pain and fear in their face as they passed. I don’t understand, isn’t euthanasia supposed to be humane? It wasn’t what I had in mind for a death that was orchestrated and meant to be easier. I don’t think I’d choose that again. I’d rather they’d died at home and on their own than have to go through that.

Sadly, I’ve heard this kind of thing more than a few times. Folks may keep mum about this when it comes to veterinary staff, but they feel comfortable confiding in me. That is not something that I want families feeling like is their only option, going it alone. And the members of the veterinary community that I know feel the same way. Having a family try to manage a pet in end-of-life without them being medically supported (adequate pain management and getting answers to questions about what is happening, most importantly) isn’t good for the pet, nor the family for obvious reasons. And it surely damages the human/animal bond.

Having the option to have euthanasia performed at home where the pet is familiar and comfortable is a boon and can of course mitigate the problems that arise when trying to transport them to the vet, and house call and hospice vets routinely provide this in their practice. Ditto for some vets that practice in a clinical setting. With all three, planning in advance is necessary of course. I do realize that not everyone is comfortable with the scenario of a pet dying at home. So that, and in other cases where the possibility of a crisis situation availing itself and necessitating euthanasia in a clinic, making the transport of the pet as low-stress as possible is key. Having a plan in place -- one that has been crafted with a vet -- to achieve this is a must.

But aside from having all of that lined up, there is one detail that is, without question, crucial in facilitating a peaceful transition and mitigating at least some of the poor experiences that I mentioned above. It’s the simple act of a pet being sedated for euthanasia.

Sedation is two-fold: it’s not only for the pet’s well-being, but the family attending their companion animal as they are helped along by the vet. Within a few minutes of being given the sedative, the pet drifts into a deep sleep, which I can tell you is inherently a calming segue, an intensely comforting state of being not only for the pet, but for the humans. I’ll share that Gretchen’s passing was especially resonant. She gently closed her eyes after being given the sedative, then settled into the deepest sleep I’d seen her enjoy in months. Then she began to snore -- not just in her tired old dog fashion, but in a way that signaled to me that she had attained a level of comfort that hadn’t been possible in the weeks before then due to her failing body. My instinct was to reach out to her, to pet her carefully, gently because of her advanced osteoarthritis and then I realized something overwhelmingly profound -- I could pet her without any worry of causing her pain. I found myself petting her the way I used to do before her tender joints made it prohibitive. Then, without another thought, I crawled into her bed, cradled myself around her, hugging her, talking to her, listening to her breathe, saying my final goodbye, sobbing tears of comfort and joyful exhaustion and soaking up every ounce of physical contact that was most certainly the gift of gifts from the Universe that I never thought I’d ever have, and dared not ask for.

But only sedation made that possible. It brought the concept of “a good death” full circle, and in itself is an act of advocacy for both the pet and the family. Not every vet sedates a pet for euthanasia, unfortunately. If it were not something that would have been standard with my hospice vet, I would have advocated for myself and Gretchen that she be provided it no matter where that road might have led.

So, as I gently offer, “...be sure to talk about sedation” to those in my midst as they indicate they see that euthanasia needs to be a bigger part of the conversation with their vet, I say the same to you.  

Lorrie Shaw is a freelance writer and owner of Professional Pet Sitting. She has been a featured guest on the Pawprint Animal Rescue Podcast, talking about her career working with companion animals and writing about her experiences. Shoot her an email, contact her at 734-904-7279 or follow her adventures on Twitter.