The three-inch long constipated goldfish from Norfolk that hit the headlines last week must be the luckiest fish in Britain. After an hour-long operation, which cost £300 and involved a water-based anaesthetic, he is now in a tank somewhere, releasing his droppings with ease.
It’s difficult for most people to understand why anyone would be so involved with a cold-eyed fish that they would spend that much on treatment, rather than spend a hundredth of the cost to buy a new one. But as a vet in practice, I understand the motive well, and I applaud the goldfish owner’s dedication to his little friend. Every day in my job, I come across people who go the extra mile for their ailing pets.
There was Gozo, for example, a Maltese terrier that was paralysed after a brain haemorrhage. She was unable to walk, but she was conscious enough to gaze into her owner’s eyes with emotional appeal. She lived for an extra two years, carried around in a cashmere-lined bag and given the same toileting care as a human baby. Her owner devoted herself to Gozo – and many of her friends criticised her actions. But she just couldn’t contemplate the alternative: euthanasia was out of the question.
I remember Midget, too, a stray kitten who was born with no eyes. He had no hope of living a normal life: he was completely and permanently blind. Euthanasia was the easy answer: a simple, quick injection and he would “go to sleep”. The problem would have been solved and everyone could have moved on.
But when Midget was brought to me for the procedure, he purred loudly as I picked him up. He pressed his head against my arm affectionately as I explained to his finder what I was going to do. He was clearly a happy little cat, and as I filled the syringe with the deadly injection, I paused. A blind cat doesn’t suffer pain or discomfort: why was I ending his life? I changed my mind, and a week later, Midget was in a new, indoor-only home. He went on to live a long and contented life.
An abandoned pet rabbit was once brought in for euthanasia because she had myxomatosis, which is nearly always fatal. The syringe was loaded and ready. I was giving my usual pre-euthanasia chat, when the rabbit hopped back into her carrier and started nibbling on some hay. She didn’t look like a rabbit who was ready to die.
I brought her home that night. After six weeks living in a cage on top of our Aga and being dosed with antibiotics and oral aloe vera gel, Gloria (“I Will Survive”) was ready to move to a hutch in the garden. If she had been in pain, I would have euthanised her, but convenience-killing is never easy to do.
I have also aided and abetted owners in extreme missions to save animal lives. Snuggles the hamster developed a liver tumour: surgical removal of half of his liver was the only way to save him. His owner pleaded with me to do it, and I agreed to operate despite minimal hope of success. He ended up making a full, unexpected recovery.
Many owners take on personal burdens on behalf of their pets: a constipated guinea pig that needs an enema every morning, a toothless rabbit who has a liquidised smoothie for breakfast, lunch and dinner, and a beakless budgie who is hand-fed. In each case, the animal is not suffering, and the owners have such strong empathy with their pet that they cannot bear to finish their lives.
Vets are accused of profiteering by agreeing to treat cases that casual observers feel are “not worth it”, but the truth is that money is never the incentive: these cases tend to involve time-consuming, emotionally demanding patients. The job of vets is to explain the options, and then to support the owner in their decision, whatever it may be, as long as the animal is not suffering.
I have friends who blame vets for not taking a harder line, insisting on euthanasia. If an animal is in pain, or if their quality of life is miserable, I’d be the first to agree. But if the reason for euthanasia is human convenience, and an owner wants to carry on, why not give the animal a chance?
