We give our pets a dignified death; why not humans?

Max left this world last week. He was one of our many beloved pets, a beautiful long gray hair cat with white paws, a white mustache, and a white apron on his chest. He blessed us with his  16 yearlong life when he breathed his last.

Sixteen is elderly for a cat and Max was suffering the ailments all of God’s creatures share as any enter our last stage of life. In his last days, breathing was labored and he refused to eat, choosing instead to find a quiet place to hide away. The veterinarian measured his heart rate at about half that of a healthy cat. She then discovered a mass in his abdomen. Max had cancer.

He didn’t need us to subject him to an array of uncomfortable medical tests to know for certain why he was dying. We knew. Max knew. Each of us was ready. None of us was ready. We recognized the time had come. So, the vet very humanely sedated him and gave him a shot that sent him over the Rainbow Bridge.

We’ve been there before as have many of you. The moment is an inherent part of having a relationship with our pets. Just as we have a responsibility for their feeding and care during the days they have making our lives better, so it is we also have a responsibility to help them end their lives when the time has come. 

I never get over the profundity of the moment these loving creatures leave our world. As the vet administers the drug that, within seconds, will end their lives, everything in me wants to scream, “Stop.” Each time I am on the verge of demanding the whole thing end. I don’t want any of them to leave. I don’t want to be responsible for their death.

But, just as quickly, that impulse gives way to the reality of what is best for the pet over whose life God has given me dominion. I give thanks that they lived and acknowledge my responsibility for allowing them to leave with dignity. Max is calm, unaware of the drama in my mind. He no longer growls that weak Max growl as the vet moves his body and shaves a bit of fur so that she can insert the needle. The final drug is administered, a last breath taken. Max is no more.

Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust. His soul quietly departs for that place all souls go. I don’t pretend to know where that is and I don’t try to guess. I simply have faith it is a place where Max is as  loved and loving in Heaven as he was on earth. Max is fine.

It occurs to me to ask why we make sure our pets die peaceful, dignified deaths but humans are often required to suffer to the very end. Is it because we care more for our pets than we do our fellow human beings? Or is it because we value animal life more than human life?

One day, my wife Pat and I talked to the cashier at the grocery store about his dog and how he had just endured putting him “to sleep.” We all agreed it was best for our pets when the time has come. Pat said, “If only the law allowed us to be as compassionate toward our fellow humans.”

A lady behind us whom we did not know was so offended by the idea that, though a complete stranger, she blurted out, “I’m glad I’m not your grandmother.” We agreed tacitly. None of the three of us thought the grocery store checkout line was a place to debate euthanasia. We each went our way.

Curiously, most states, including Wyoming, enable people like the lady in the line to impose their religious beliefs on us but not on our pets. If only the law allowed Max to make the choice for me that I was honored to make for him.