Since I’ve started working in hospice and thinking about death a lot (some might even say too much), I’ve become very struck by the different way we approach end of life care for animals and humans.
“Duuuhhh,” you may be saying to yourself. True, my observation is not a brilliant one. But what I find interesting about the difference between animals and humans is how ingrained our acceptance of it is.
As I mentioned earlier, we’ve said goodbye to our original batch of kitties over the past few years. We put two “down,” and the other, Elle, died before we were able to do that. We felt terrible about Elle. We as a culture have so embraced euthanasia for animals that we as a family felt like we did something inhumane by not speeding her death along. Did we force her to suffer needlessly? We were so used to bringing our pets to the vet when it was “their time” that I kind of forgot that they could die on their own.
This, of course, is quite different for people. In most places it is illegal to have a person “put down.” It is illegal where I live, and every now and then I meet people who ask, sometimes sarcastically, if I can just give them a pill to end it. I certainly meet people who would like to get death over and done with. I usually assure them that we will be able to manage their pain, and then gently suggest that there can be growth at the end of life, that there can be beauty in the time before death, and that this time in their life has meaning. I happen to believe all of that. I’m not an advocate for assisted suicide. I’m not even very well versed on the subject. But I can see its attraction.
We have a very chatty new vet, and upon learning that I work in hospice, he told me the story of his father’s death, which was not a good one (I hear a lot of stories like this. I’ve learned that it’s better to not wear my hospice name tag out in public.) He then told me that when his mother is reaching the end of her life, he will have no problem helping her speed it along–quietly, of course. As a vet, he felt that he would be very comfortable with such an action. If you’re used to putting four-legged creatures out of their misery, I can see how it would be hard to watch the two-legged woman who gave you life wait it out.
Of course, animals are very different from humans. Or, at least we humans choose to believe that they are. We kill animals all of the time. I just ate several different species at dinner. (What, exactly, was in that meatball, anyway?) We don’t kill and eat humans, at least not without a lot of legal repercussions. And while in this country we tend to distinguish our cute little cats and dogs from livestock and wild animals–we don’t eat dogs and cats, for example–we are allowed to kill them, and we do so quite frequently. And they don’t have to be sick, either. Due to lack of space, many animal shelters are forced to euthanize any animal that isn’t adopted within a certain amount of time. And we’ve all heard about those sacks of unwanted puppies and kittens filled with rocks and put in the river.
You can euthanize for behavioral issues, too, and sometimes are required to. I’ve had a couple of aggressive animals in the past, and could have easily had them “put down.” I couldn’t do it, though.
Twain was my first cat. I didn’t realize that it wasn’t normal for a cat to routinely attack you and draw blood, though it did explain why she had been brought to the shelter in the first place. But three years later, when I found that I spent every morning fending her off with my pillow and that she had narrowly missed making off with one of my eyeballs, I called it quits. My vet suggested that I euthanize her, as she thought she was too dangerous to work with. But, instead, I brought her to a no-kill shelter with a “behavioral therapy” program. I explained the situation and strongly suggested that they never adopt her out to a family with children (or any humans at all, I added under my breath).
I did not miss Twain very much.
My luck wasn’t much better with my first dog, either. Edy, my border collie, attacked me over a bone that I gave her for her first birthday. I took a different approach with her though, and we went through intense training. But I was always a little afraid of her, and I never trusted her again–she could be moody and snarky. Nine years later, when she started growling at our first child as she crawled across the floor, there was no longer room for negotiation. Still, though, I couldn’t put her down. I couldn’t even bring her to a shelter. It wasn’t easy, but I managed to find a family with much older children who understood her history and issues, and said that they had always wanted a moody 10 year-old border collie with hip dysplasia. Hard to believe, but true. I visited Edy several times over the next few years and they adored her. She had a wonderful life with them, and I was glad that I did not have her euthanized. Logistically, I very easily could have. I think any vet would have agreed to do it. But emotionally–morally?–I couldn’t bring myself to do it.
So, clearly, I am not comfortable with sentencing an animal to its death. *
But, then why do I feel that it is so necessary to euthanize our animals at the end of life? Why did I feel guilty about not euthanizing Elle?
And if that’s the way I feel, why am I not gung-ho about the assisted suicide movement?
I don’t know the answers to these questions. I can accept that we treat animals differently than humans, and that we have different standards for them. Maybe it’s because animals are completely dependent on us, and that it is hard to imagine that they will experience “growth” at the end of life. Maybe that’s why I feel like we need to speed things along for them, so that they don’t suffer. We try not to let humans suffer, either, but I’m not comfortable speeding things along. I’m guessing that society has a lot to do with it, too. The sociologist in me assumes that these differences are, at least in part, socially constructed–i.e., that they aren’t inherent. In any case, these beliefs are very ingrained in our culture. So ingrained that I really can’t figure out why I feel the way that I do.
I’d like to hear your thoughts on this, though. Any insights into my conflicting beliefs? What are your beliefs? Are they as contradictory as mine? Leave a comment under the link below.
And, as always, thanks for reading.
*Unless I plan on eating it. I know this is another moral contradiction. But as it is I can’t eat wheat or corn so I’m just going to close my eyes and pretend that I’m not a hypocrite and make my life easier and eat the damn burger. Without the bun.