Trigger warning: This blog talks in detail about behavioral euthanasia.

His name was Cyrus. He was my soul dog. I loved him more than I knew possible. He passed at just 27 months old because of the hardest choice I’ve ever made – behavioral euthanasia (BE).

Why am I sharing this now, more than two years later? Because that’s the time I needed to openly tell that part of our story. Saying “he was sick”, though true,  has started to feel like I’m trying to hide something, and I’m not. I know and truly believe I made the kindest possible decision for him, and I also know some people will disagree. I am OK with and ready for that.

It’s time to talk about the caregiver toll of BE. BE happens, and it’s not a decision that anyone makes lightly. For those who are weighing or have made this impossible decision, I see you. You are not alone.

Making the Decision 

When and how a caregiver arrives at a BE decision for their beloved pet will differ. We all have unique needs, situations, resources, and, of course, pets, and there is no one “right” way or “best” time to make this decision. 

For me, it hit like a ton of bricks after two years of trying everything that felt reasonable for me given all of the information and resources I had. I had attempted to get away for a long weekend for the first time since adopting Cyrus to see family and a good friend and spent the entire time triaging his needs with both our trusted pet sitter and veterinary team from a distance. When I arrived at the airport to board my return flight, all I remember is thinking, “I don’t want to go home because I know it’s time.” 

While I could go into detail about his behavior challenges, medical issues, and the laundry list of management, training, and medications we tried, the purpose of this blog is neither to justify my decision to others nor to make others question their choices. Instead, I will simply say that after exhausting all of the options that were reasonable for us, I still hadn’t found the right combination of support to help him be comfortable, safe, and healthy in this world. 

When a caregiver has exhausted the options that are reasonable for them, the most humane one may be the option we’ve done everything in our power with the resources we have to avoid. 

An Emotional Tsunami

I expected to cycle through the five stages of grief in whatever nonlinear order I experienced them. And, I did, and still revisit them on occasion. What I didn’t expect was for “good” feelings to feel yucky too, or really for “good” feelings at all. There was relief in not needing to use vacation time for vet appointments, joy in freely doing mundane things again like going for a run and grocery shopping, happiness in being able to rejoin family gatherings, and gratitude for the unwavering support from our vet and trainer. I wanted to bury all of those feelings as quickly as they surfaced.

I made the kindest decision for Cyrus; yet, I felt like I failed him and everyone I asked for help along the way. The guilt ran deep, so deep that these feelings truly only felt possible because of my BE decision. The reality was I was grieving not only the loss of my beloved companion but also the living I put on hold while doing my best to meet his needs.  

You and your quality of life matter too. Caring for a pet with behavioral challenges is emotionally, mentally, and financially draining, in addition to requiring lifestyle shifts to meet their needs. I’m certain you’ve done more than you are giving yourself credit for and made personal sacrifices for your pet without giving it a second thought. (Yes, I do see you.) Whatever you find yourself grieving and feeling is valid, and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. 

What Do I Say? 

This is probably a good place for me to clarify a few things about what I didn’t (and did) know about BE before making that decision myself. Cyrus was not the first pet I said goodbye to, though the first two had lived long healthy lives. I also happen to now be a dog professional who has supported clients through this heart-wrenching decision, though that was not the case when I made my own BE decision. It wasn’t until a little over a year after adopting Cyrus that I first heard of BE, and in a context that had nothing to do with him or his care. 

When I began to let people know he’d passed or someone asked what happened, my true but grossly oversimplified answer was (and still often is): “He was sick.” I was far from ready to share more, other than with a select few people I trusted implicitly and in the closed Losing Lulu Facebook group, but that response still felt problematic to me. How is it possible to help normalize BE, demonstrate genuine respect for those who showed up for us, and feel less alone if that’s all I said? At the same time, I was well aware of the judgment and criticism that would (and has) come with the mention of BE.

For me, this was a real dilemma because all of my options felt undesirable, and in many ways still do. Maybe that resonates with you? The best answer I can offer is, “It depends.” It depends on what feels right and best to you in the moment, and it’s OK if what that is shifts in time or based on your audience. No one deserves more information than you choose to share or the right to judge your choices (though, they may).

Forever Changed

I have cared for and said goodbye to sick family members. I have cared for and said goodbye to other pets both before and since Cyrus. I have made some incredibly difficult and challenging life decisions. I can say with certainty this has been one of the hardest experiences of my life, and even that feels like an understatement. And, yet, I can also say with certainty that BE was the kindest, most humane choice for Cyrus. 

I will likely forever feel responsible for his care and like I failed him. I have no doubt those lingering feelings of guilt and inadequacy are why I was guarded and terrified to fall in love with my second dog, even though I was ready to welcome him home. I imagine that is all normal when another sentient being that you love deeply depends on you to meet their needs. But, then it’s hard to know since we don’t talk enough about this very important and multifaceted topic.

It’s taken more than two years to have the courage to share this part of our story, and it’s OK if you’re ready sooner or never at all. It’s also taken me that long to finally give myself permission to never “get over it.” I mean, do you ever really “get over” anything that breaks you in a way that forever changes you? Instead, I have landed on: “I’ve gotten through it,” and, I’m confident you will too. How? Lean in a little (sometimes a lot) extra to your village, acknowledge and process the uncomfortable and challenging emotions, seek professional help if needed, be kind to yourself, and keep telling yourself you made the right decision because you did. There is truly hope that in time you will believe that too. In the meantime, know you are not alone. 

Resources 

Did you hear me? I said you’re not alone, and here’s more evidence of that. Below are links to various resources I found (and continue to find) helpful. Please note this is not an exhaustive list of the resources out there on this topic. 

• Podcast Episode: Behavioral Euthanasia: Forgiving Yourself for Not Walking on Water (Animal Training Academy)
• Podcast Episode: When Love Means Letting Go: A Look at Behavioral Euthanasia (Bittey End of the Dog)
• Podcast Episode: Jumping Off the Rainbow Bridge (Behavior Buzzzzzz with 2 Amys)
• Website: Get help for people | Center for Veterinary Social Work
• Closed Facebook Support Group: Losing Lulu 
• Zoom Support Group, Laps of Love (for cost): Behavioral Euthanasia Support Group
• Book: When the Loss is Deep: A Companion Animal Grief Journal, by Deborah Jones, Ph.D.
• Blog Series by Deb Jones: One of the Worst Days of My Life, Making Terrible Choices, You Are Not Alone