Many years ago, when I was still in high school, I decided that I wanted to work with animals. I contacted the local veterinarian and asked her if she would accept me as a volunteer. She agreed and instructed me to report to the practice at 7am the next morning at which time we would depart for the first farm call of the day, at a local piggery.
I can still remember the eager anticipation of my first day as my mother dropped me off that cold winter morning. The heavy frost clung to the sign at the entrance to the driveway, obscuring the words from view, but I knew I was at the right place because I passed it every day on my way to school, longingly gazing over the acres of white railed fences and the beautiful horses grazing within.
As I walked toward the large barn, the frozen gravel crunched beneath my gumboots and alerted the farm dogs to my arrival. They flew out of open door to greet me, their shrill calls breaking the muffled silence of the morning. A woman appeared in the barn doorway carrying a bucket filled with supplies. She walked purposefully toward the nearby truck and glanced briefly at me before saying ‘Get in. You're going to need earplugs for this one.’ I had no idea what she was talking about but when we arrived at the piggery it became immediately clear when a farmer appeared in front of us holding a tiny piglet that was screeching loudly in protest.
My first job assisting the veterinarian was to hold the bucket of supplies while she pushed cotton wool into her ears. Then she silently took a syringe out of the bucket. It was filled with bright pink solution. She removed the cap from the needle and swiftly inserted the needle into the piglet's neck before depressing the plunger. I couldn't tell if all the solution went in, but the piglet's head dropped almost instantly and the screeching stopped. It hung limp in the farmer's hands while veterinarian lifted her stethoscope to listen to the piglet's chest. She nodded and the farmer dropped the piglet into a plastic bag, tied a knot and handed it to me. I was stunned. Death had come quickly and invisibly but I struggled to understand how it could happen so quickly and without any fanfare.
That first experience was a good lesson for me about how sometimes we have to assist with ending animals' lives instead of caring for them but that it is a part of our role in the veterinary clinic, to ensure that death is humane above all else. Many years have passed since that day, and my understanding of euthanasia is much better now, but I find it is never easy to help an animal die, especially when it is otherwise healthy and capable of living a long life.
The cases where we yearn for merciful death for animals suffering with terminal conditions seem easy in comparison to a young cat brought in to be euthanised in response to an owner's wish. The ethical line remains fuzzy and we often do it because we dread to think what would happen to the animal if we refused. There will always be cases that defy understanding and challenge the way we perceive our roles as animal advocates and it is a burden that we all must bear in one form or another.
In this issue, we have an article on ethics of euthanasia and while it may seem expected that a veterinary nursing journal would address such issues, it will always be a subject that deserves the utmost respect.