Originally published 2019-10-22.
Most vets do not get used to euthanasia, and many carry each one home with them. That is the heart of a long Facebook letter written in September 2019 by Brenda Gough, a small-animal veterinarian in Ontario, Canada. She wrote it to a family whose dog she had cared for since puppyhood, and she let readers see the part of the appointment that owners rarely notice: the vet trying to stay composed while saying goodbye too.
The post struck a nerve. By the time news sites picked it up in October 2019, the screenshot of it showed around 111,000 reactions, 26,000 comments and 123,000 shares. Below we walk through what she wrote, explain why end-of-life work is so heavy for veterinary teams, and offer practical guidance for owners facing the same decision.
Who Brenda Gough is
Gough runs a practice that sees mostly dogs and cats. According to interviews she gave to animal news sites at the time, she was based near Burford, Ontario, had worked as a small-animal vet for about 24 years, and grew up around a clinic because her father was also a veterinarian. She reportedly ends the lives of roughly two animals a week, and occasionally three or four in a single day.
Outside the clinic, she is a keen rider and keeps horses. She has said that after a hard day she needs time alone to decompress, and that her family understands the toll the job takes.
Her letter, step by step
The post is written to "you", the owner, and it follows one animal from first visit to last. Here is what each part of it says, in our own summary.
She opens with the puppy's first appointments: a dog who licks her face, wolfs down the clinic biscuits and slowly decides the woman in the white coat is a friend. The letter is titled with the idea of showing euthanasia from the vet's point of view.
Years pass. She describes becoming fond of the whole household, watching the children grow up at each annual check-up, and recalls a funny emergency surgery after the dog swallowed a piece of the teenage daughter's underwear.
Then, about fifteen years on, the end arrives. The illness might be heart disease, cancer or arthritis that no longer responds to medication. She admits that when she runs out of ways to keep a patient comfortable, she feels she has failed both the animal and its family.
Here she rejects the idea that a doctor should stay cool and detached, using a strong (partly masked) swear word. She points out that she has known this dog and this family for a third of her life.
She credits the technicians who placed the catheter and the reception and support staff who handled the paperwork, noting that they are grieving too. The syringe sits in the same coat pocket that used to hold treats.
The dog gives her its familiar look, but it is too weak now. Neither the owner nor the vet feels ready, yet she writes that the procedure has to happen because the dog should not be made to keep going for our sake.
The old tail still wags a little as she works, and she describes fighting back tears. When she listens for a heartbeat, she cannot tell whether she is hearing the owner's pounding heart or her own.
After confirming death, she hugs the owner. Once the door closes, she says, she often cries into the pet's fur, thinking of the empty house the family is about to walk into.
She closes by telling the owner she knows how they feel, wishing animals could live forever, and thanking them for letting her be part of the journey. The screenshot shows the reaction counts the post had gathered.
A rider clearing a show jump on a skewbald pony, one of the personal photos shared alongside coverage of Gough's post, which reflects her life with horses outside the clinic.
An ink paw print. Many clinics offer owners a print or a clay impression of their pet's paw as a keepsake after euthanasia; ask your practice if this matters to you.
A small grey-and-white kitten beside a Tim Hortons coffee cup, a reminder that the same vet who says goodbye to old patients also welcomes new ones every week.
Why euthanasia weighs so heavily on vets
Gough's letter is personal, but the pattern it describes is well documented. A survey of 463 veterinarians in the south-eastern United States, published in the journal Anthrozoös in 2011, found they performed about 7.5 companion-animal euthanasias a month on average. Most said vet school had not prepared them well for supporting owners of terminally ill animals, and a large majority wanted more training in communication.
The emotional load is only part of the picture. A study by the US Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, published in December 2018 and covering deaths from 1979 to 2015, found that female veterinarians were about 3.5 times, and male veterinarians about 2.1 times, as likely to die by suicide as the general population. The CDC listed access to euthanasia drugs and the knowledge of how to use them among the risk factors specific to the profession.
None of this means every vet struggles, or that owners should feel guilty for asking for help. It does explain why kind words to the clinic team after a loss mean more than many people realise. If you work in animal care and are finding it hard to cope, reach out to a doctor, a colleague you trust or a local crisis line.
What usually happens during a pet's euthanasia
Knowing the steps can make the day less frightening. Procedures vary, so your own vet is the best guide, but a typical appointment looks like this:
- Sedation first. Many vets give a sedative so the animal is calm and sleepy. This gives the family time to say goodbye while their pet is relaxed.
- A catheter or vein. A small tube is often placed in a leg vein, which is why Gough mentions her technicians placing a catheter.
- The final injection. Usually an overdose of an anaesthetic such as sodium pentobarbital. Unconsciousness typically comes within about half a minute, followed by the breathing and heart stopping.
- Afterwards. The body may twitch, take a reflex breath, or empty the bladder as muscles relax. These are normal after death and are not signs of pain.
Euthanasia can take place at the clinic, and many areas also have vets who visit the home. You can ask in advance about staying in the room, about aftercare such as cremation, and about keepsakes like a paw print or a clipping of fur.
Practical help for owners facing the decision
- Ask about quality of life, not only diagnosis. Is your pet eating, moving, resting comfortably and still enjoying favourite things? Your vet can help you track good and bad days.
- Decide whether to be present. Many owners stay, and in surveys most clients are in the room. Some cannot, and that is acceptable too; the team will be gentle with your pet either way.
- Plan the practical parts early. Settling payment and aftercare choices beforehand means you can leave without paperwork when you are upset.
- Be honest with children. Plain language, such as "the vet helped her die peacefully", is usually easier for children than euphemisms like "put to sleep".
- Look for grief support. Pet-loss helplines and support groups exist in many countries, and your clinic can often point you to one.
Myths about pet euthanasia
"Vets stop feeling it after a while." Gough's letter, and the research above, suggest otherwise. Experience may make the procedure routine, but the goodbyes do not become routine.
"Choosing euthanasia means giving up." Robin Hargreaves, a former president of the British Veterinary Association, has written that owners should separate sadness from guilt. Grief is natural, but a careful decision made for the animal's welfare is not a failure.
"My pet will suffer during the injection." With sedation and an intravenous drug, the animal loses consciousness quickly. Movements afterwards are reflexes, not awareness.
"I should have known sooner." Animals often hide pain, and decline can be gradual. If you are unsure, an honest conversation with your vet about your pet's comfort is the best next step.
Why the letter resonated
Most owners remember the day they lost a pet in fragments: the drive to the clinic, the quiet room, the walk back to the car. Gough filled in the part they could not see, the vet holding herself together until the door closed. Her message to grieving families is simple: the people in scrubs are mourning with you, and they are grateful to have known your animal.
Sources: Brenda Gough's original Facebook post; Compre Rural, October 2019 (coverage of the post); Faunalytics summary of Dickinson, Roof & Roof (2011), Anthrozoös 24(2); CDC press release, 20 December 2018: suicide deaths among US veterinarians; Wikipedia: Animal euthanasia; British Veterinary Association blog: Separating sadness from guilt. Screenshots and photos: Brenda Gough via Facebook.
COMMENTS