Lessons and ethics of assisting with death

01 February 2013
2 mins read
Volume 4 · Issue 1

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.

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