Insights from the Editor

We recently had to put down our family's beloved Labrador retriever, Trane. For the last few years, she exhibited severe hip problems, a classic sign of age associated with her breed. But lately Trane (pictured right), who was 12, had become lethargic--refusing even to scratch fleas--and was losing weight.

A few weekends ago, as I was bathing her I could feel not only her ribs but her vertebrae, and her collar had to be cinched to its innermost notch. She was literally wasting away.

It wasn't hard to see where this was headed, nor was it difficult to figure that she would probably not come home from her next vet visit. I was much less certain how I was going to explain this to my children, Elise, age 7, and Graeme, age 4. Explaining euthanasia to small children is tricky. Children get confused; they ask lots of questions; they project things onto themselves; they cry a lot.

Naturally, whether intentionally or not, my wife arranged for me to be the bearer of bad news. And I knew it wouldn't be easy. I was still explaining why we flushed Omen and Nemo, our last two goldfish, down the toilet.

But I came upon a strategy I thought might work. First, I told them in the car. I figured it was a lot easier to tell them if I didn't look them in the eye. I wasn't at all sure I would be composed enough to answer their questions if I had to face them.

Second, I spent the day trying to figure out what I needed to share with them and what I needed to leave out. I got a few things right--and probably a few things wrong. Here's what I told them:

"Trane was in a lot of pain and she wasn't going to improve. Dr. Champion did everything he could and this really was the best thing for her. It was very easy on Trane. It didn't hurt her and she wasn't scared. She went to sleep and didn't wake up."

(I should have left the last line out because my four-year-old began asking all sorts of questions about sleep and death.)

The conversation became robust with both of them discussing death, responsibility and even cremation. They cried but things on our small Alabama farm returned to normal in the next few days.

I will miss Trane, but her death opened up an opportunity to teach my children about faith and morality, about the health outcomes and decision-making processes that we face with our pets--and all too frequently with people in our lives.

I don't know if they understood all of it--especially our four-year-old. (In fact, a few days later, my son, frustrated and crying over some disappointment, did what any normal defeated four-year-old does. He heightened his sense of drama, looked at my wife and said, "I just want to be cremated.")

But now that they know the basics, we'll have a more concrete foundation to talk about life and death later on.

Editor's Note: The Nemours Foundation has an excellent guide to explaining pet deaths to children.