Pet Euthanasia at Home: 6 Ways to Make Putting Down Your Pet Easier on Them—and You

© Dave and Les Jacobs/Getty Images

By Ace Ratcliff, Self

Harper Laika Leeloo, DDS, was the best-worst dog that ever lived. She was 50 pounds of pure terror packed into a 10-pound body. She was more fluff than actual pup. She hated other dogs, except those who would let her stick her entire head inside their mouths to lick their teeth (hence the “DDS” at the end of her name). She was a fierce protector, determined to bark to death anyone or anything that she perceived as threatening me or my partner, Derek. She had a black patch of fur over her wandering right eye, pointed ears that stood up straight, and a jauntiness in her step that I can still picture when I imagine her.

She was also a genetic nightmare of inbreeding that led to a plethora of health issues. Derek is a veterinarian. One day, he pulled his stethoscope out and held it to her chest so I could listen to her heartbeat. He listened first, expecting the “lub-dub, lub-dub” of a healthy heart. I watched his eyes widen in surprise. He passed the eartips over to me and I settled in to listen, but the cadence of her heart was a whooshing “lub-swoosh, lub-swoosh.”

Derek took her in for x-rays the next day and came back with bad news. At age nine, Harper’s heart was already enlarged from ongoing heart disease, which would inevitably progress to congestive heart failure (CHF). She was seriously sick. CHF is a terminal illness. The timetable for the end varies from animal to animal, but death is a certainty. Eventually, the heart simply cannot do its job any more. Left to its own devices, the heart gives way and the animal suffocates in their own fluids. After Derek explained to me what CHF would do to our sweet beast, we both knew that euthanasia would ultimately be both the kind and the right decision to end Harper’s life.

Spoiler alert for this whole story: The dog definitely dies.

A little more than six months later, she had deteriorated a great deal. We set a date and began the surreal experience of counting down the days until our appointment. The day before, we took her on a grand tour of our hometown of Oakland—first to Starbucks for a Puppuccino (a small cup filled to the brim with whipped cream), followed by a plain beef patty at In-N-Out Burger (and some french fries too). Much to her chagrin, we bathed her. We took her to the Redwoods and snapped photos of her: on a tree stump, her long tongue lolling out, her eyes wide with joy. I stopped by the store and picked out a bouquet of my favorite roses; Derek brought home a cardboard coffin. We placed both on the dining room table, then spent our last night together loving on her and sneaking her treats.

In the morning, we didn’t drive to the veterinary office to have someone else perform the euthanasia. We sat together on the couch in our living room as we performed the euthanasia at home, our favorite band trickling quietly from the speakers and our legs touching. As Derek gave her the first injection of sedatives, I thanked her for nine wonderful years together, reminiscing about how tiny she was when I first picked her out. I held her as she drifted into a medicated lull, and I kissed her on the top of her head when he injected the overdose of anesthesia that ultimately ended her life.

© Courtesy of the writer   Harper, the best-worst dog

As I gently placed her body in the casket, I marveled at how silky-soft her fur was after yesterday’s bath. I carefully snipped the roses from their stems and arranged them around her. I slipped a final bone beneath her front paws, tucked into a tiny bouquet. The morning sunshine shone down on her, and the white of her fur stood in stark contrast to the turquoise towel I had used to line the casket. She looked beautiful, so I even took some memento mori photos. Then Derek and I drove to the crematory, where we stood together as the crematory operator let me place her body inside the retort and push the button to light the ignition. One hour later, we sat together in the car, holding hands. A small wooden box filled with her cremated remains sat in my lap as we drove back home.

We parked in front of our apartment. In the quiet of the silenced car, we turned to look at each other. It was as if an actual lightbulb had suddenly blinked on, illuminating both of us. “We should help other people through this,” I declared. “We should do this for a living.”

Derek and I had helped other friends with euthanizing their pets over the last year, but the idea of turning it into a business simply hadn’t solidified as a possible reality until that very moment. We had the credentials, though. Derek studied the human-animal bond and non-verbal communication on a Fulbright scholarship in Amsterdam before graduating from Cornell University College of Veterinary Medicine in 2010.

I knew I wanted to work in the death care industry as a three-year-old, after my eccentric grandmother gifted me a series of books about mummification and ancient Egypt. I went on to become a mortician. Before retiring due to disability, I had six years of experience as a funeral director, crematory operator, and embalmer.

Euthanizing our own pet helped us to realize that we should combine our skill sets to help people make one of the worst days of their lives as good as it possibly could be. Earlier this year, we officially founded Harper’s Promise, an in-home pet euthanasia practice operating in the San Francisco Bay Area in California. Harper deserved the best, and we did everything we could to give her that for all nine years that she was with us. We promised her a good life, and a good life includes a dignified death.

All pets should have the same.

The difficult inevitability of living with and loving a pet is the reality of their death. More often than not, euthanasia is the way our pets die. Here are a few ways the euthanasia process can be easier on them and you, when the time does eventually come.

1. Making a “quality of life checklist” can help you decide on the right time to euthanize.

The biggest struggle that most people have with end-of-life decision making is figuring out when is the right time to move forward with euthanasia. Because it’s not a decision that we usually have to make for any of our other loved ones, we have no frame of reference for how to lovingly figure out this first (and most important) detail.

“There are actually many ‘right’ times to choose euthanasia, not one single exact moment,” explains Derek (Dr. Calhoon to his clients; fiancé and business partner to me). “We call this the compassionate death time frame.” Depending on each pet’s unique experience, their time frame may be as brief as a few hours, but often occurs over a prolonged period of time.

“There’s going to be the first day it’s reasonable to put your pet to sleep, and the last day that it’s reasonable to keep your pet alive. Before that, no ethical veterinarian will choose to euthanize your pet,” he continues. “By the time you get to that last day, it’s very clear to everyone involved that euthanasia needs to happen.”

A quality of life checklist can be a useful tool to help determine when your pet has entered their compassionate death time frame. When Harper got sick, we made a list of five things that proved to us she was experiencing a good quality of life, including getting up to bark like a fool at the front door and scarfing down her dinner. When she was too exhausted to complete most of the things on the checklist, we knew that her body was announcing to us that her suffering was outweighing her enjoyment of life. The morning of her euthanasia, Harper was too fatigued to even eat breakfast. The very act of standing up to cross the room left her worn out.

“Death is a general trend downward,” Derek explains. “There may be ups along the way, but when the bad days start to outnumber the good ones is when euthanasia becomes an appropriate choice.”

One of the major concerns we hear when discussing timing is a worry that the pet is having a good day among the bad, which makes owners question their choice and worry that they’re acting too soon. “In many ways, deciding to euthanize on a good day is not only reasonable but loving. It means that they get to feel better in their last moments than they might have the day before,” he says.

2. You can have your pet put down in your home with the assistance of a professional.

Most people are familiar with the idea of bringing their pets to their veterinarian’s clinic for the euthanasia procedure. This usually means setting up an appointment with your vet and being in the exam room while the medications are administered, a process that takes somewhere between a few minutes to a half an hour, depending on the animal’s individual health concerns. You always have the option to spend some time alone with your pet’s body once the procedure is complete, though how long you spend may be limited by the clinic. If you’ve decided on cremation, the vet will take your pet’s body into their care; if you decide on burial, their body will be released to you. (More on that below.)

In addition to being sad, euthanizing at the vet can be awkward. Crying around other people—especially if you don’t have a close, personal relationship with your vet and their staff—can feel uncomfortable, and there are time limitations on how long a person can remain in an exam room before, during, and after the process. (A business can’t afford to lose an entire room to a grieving family for the whole day.) Finally, if your pet has anxiety about visiting the vet, they may be agitated, which is probably not the way you want them to experience their final minutes. Even those who aren’t afraid of the vet or the visit can still smell the scent pheromones left by other animals that have been there—and those smells often announce stress, anxiety, or fear.

Many veterinarians are willing to schedule in-home visits for euthanasia appointments, but increasingly, mobile veterinary clinics like ours exist specifically to help meet the need for euthanasia from the comfort of your own home. The vast majority of in-home pet euthanasia practitioners try to ensure their costs are comparable to other clinics. Most brick-and-mortar veterinary clinics will have a list of in-home practitioners that they can recommend to you. Though legal in all 50 states, this is still a growing field, so some states and rural areas may not have the same ready access to in-home options that more suburban or urban areas do.

In-home visits remove the stress that can be associated with the hospital setting. Being at home means that people retain a certain level of privacy and are not rushed by the schedule of a busy veterinary office. We’ve had the great honor to spend hours with families after the euthanasia has been completed, allowing them to spend time with their pet’s body and process their sadness at their own pace.

Obviously, I’m a proponent of the in-home process, but not to the exclusion of all veterinary clinics. In-home euthanasia practices work as an adjunct for veterinary clinics. We help them extend care to their clients’ homes by performing services that they may not have the time or staff to otherwise do. We exist in a circle of mutual appreciation of each other, understanding that each of our models offers its own set of boons and constraints and focusing on the end goal of doing whatever is best for the animal.

Whatever method you choose, the veterinarian you’re working with should be both willing and able to answer any questions you have. Derek and I make sure to have pre-appointment phone chats with families before we go to their houses and upon arriving, we explain the euthanasia process to the family before we even bring in any of our medical equipment, and allow as much time as needed for questions. Any veterinarian who makes you feel rushed—in-home or in-office—is not giving you the care you deserve. You have every right to find a different veterinarian if you don’t feel emotionally safe.

3. You have a few options to consider for what to do with your pet’s remains (and it’s best to figure that out ahead of time).

One of the most important decisions that you can make before the actual process of euthanasia is what you want done with your beloved pet’s body. Making the choice before the actual appointment means you can weigh your options before the stress of the moment (and without a staff member who is about to hand you a bill). Decision-making is always easier when done in the coolheadedness of before rather than the emotional rush of after.

The two most common options for disposition of a pet’s body are burial or cremation. Choosing burial is usually about having access to land. Those of us who rent apartments or houses may be reluctant to leave our pet’s bodies behind if we move away or may not have permission to use the land for burial at all. (It’s also hard work to bury the body deep enough to ensure predators won’t smell and scavenge the pet’s body.)

Some cities do have pet cemeteries, but it costs money to buy (and maintain) a plot of land and a grave marker.

Many other pet owners select cremation as the final disposition for their pets. Cremation—the process of using high heat to reduce a body down to ash and bone—is typically fairly inexpensive. Families have the option to have their pet cremated as part of a group or individually. Group cremations are exactly what they sound like: a group of pet’s bodies are cremated together. Typically, cremated remains are not returned to the family but may be respectfully scattered by the crematory. (The crematory we work with, Pets at Peace in San Ramon, scatters the cremated remains from group cremations in the Sierra Mountains.) Many families who do not want to possess cremated remains choose this option and then memorialize their pets by planting a tree or placing a marker somewhere, like their yard.

Some families may choose a witness cremation, where they have the opportunity to visit the crematory like I did and view portions of the cremation process. Most crematories charge a small fee for this process, but families often find a sense of closure and relief from knowing exactly what happened instead of having to try and imagine.

Individual cremations usually cost a little bit more and the cremated remains are returned to the family in an urn. Nowadays, there are an incredible number of beautiful options for personalized urns and even jewelry to hold small bits of cremated remains. Derek and I will often meet families who are perturbed by the idea of having the cremated remains of their pets in their house, preferring instead to simply hold onto their pet’s collars as a memento. Other people feel adamant that having their pets returned is an integral part of the mourning process. In fact, beside the desk where I wrote this article is a small shelf that holds Harper’s urn, collar, and a dried rose from the casket.

Some companies also offer a process called alkaline hydrolysis, or “water cremation,” for pets (and humans!) During alkaline hydrolysis, the pet’s body is placed in a pressurized vessel that is filled with water and lye, then heated. The body is essentially broken down to its chemical components over the course of four to six hours. Some bone particulate remains in a very fine, sand-like form that can be placed in an urn or buried. This process is touted as being more environmentally friendly than cremation. It’s currently legal in 16 U.S. states and some Canadian provinces.

4. Euthanasia isn’t just a medical procedure—you may want to make it more ceremonial, like a funeral.

Once you’ve figured out the nitty-gritty of the appointment details, it’s time to decide how you want to handle the euthanasia experience itself. At-home euthanasia grants families the opportunity to memorialize and hold a funeral for their pet. Although many people aren’t capable of understanding why we grieve so deeply for our pets (perhaps you’ve heard some jerk say, “He was only a dog,” or “She was only a cat. Get over it.”), the funeralization process is deeply important to our emotional health and well-being. The ritual ceremony reinforces the reality of the death, gives our family and friends space to express their feelings at the loss, and it creates a common experience for those present to offer support. It gives us a place for the spiritual aspect of our grief too. Derek and I have held hands with families as they offered prayers, or watched as they gently removed a rosary from around their dog’s neck.

There are many ways to make the euthanasia process meaningfully ceremonial. For us, the funeral involved our favorite music and preparing Harper’s body for cremation. We have met with families who drew Tarot cards before the appointment, or created beautiful altars with dried herbs and crystals, or simply made sure that they were outside in fresh grass or beneath the stars.

(Also remember to eat and drink water—crying causes dehydration and headaches, and eating means not feeling faint.)

Think about who you want to be there in the moment, before, during, and after. Some families use video or voice calls to ensure loved ones who live far away are present for the process. Derek and I served one family who invited a friend over and gave her the specific job of answering the phone and the door so that they could focus on things that they felt were more important. Here, too, you can decide on what level of inclusion you want for kids and other pets. Kids are more resilient than many people give them credit for, and sharing in the experience can often be extremely beneficial for their own grieving processes. Sometimes people feel it’s important that their other animals are present for the euthanasia, both for comfort and to help their pets avoid depression or sadness from the loss of their companions.

5. Small things can make the process more comforting for your pet.

We decide on euthanasia for our pets because we have determined with our veterinarians that it’s the kindest, most humane decision that we can make on their behalf. The goal of euthanasia (which literally means “good death” in Latin) is to offer a painless way to end suffering. As part of this, we can make the actual appointment as comfortable as possible for our pets.

Many families make sure that their pet is lying on their bed or blankie (which you can bring to the vet’s office), or in their favorite place in the house. Often, they have their favorite toys beside them, and many families keep treats on hand during the appointment. (We’ve helped feed a McDonald’s cheeseburger to one dog, and another handsome doggo gleefully devoured an entire rotisserie chicken—bones and all!—while the sedation kicked in.)

The most important part of the in-home euthanasia process is for the pet to be in a safe, comfortable, familiar place surrounded by the people they love and who love them back. For both dogs and cats, their sense of smell is incredibly important, so being able to smell you and recognize your presence helps keep them calm. We once served a woman who had saved the very last bits of the hand lotion she had used when her dog was a puppy. It had recently been discontinued. Right before the final injection, she put it on her hands so that her dog could smell her as she kept petting him.

Sometimes people are afraid of what the euthanasia process is going to be like to watch, and so they request to leave before we begin. While we recognize that people have their own needs, we gently counsel that everyone should face their fear in order to be brave for their pets and stay with them. At minimum, you should remain present until the sedation kicks in, but we recommend that you stay for the entire process. All too often, pets whose families leave spend the process fighting the sedation and searching for them. Derek and I are lifelong pet owners and animal lovers through and through, but we are still strangers to your pet. It is always more reassuring for them to be there with you, smelling you and knowing that you’re with them to the end. We have found that when people feel safe to ask questions and feel fully informed, they do stick around—even the ones who said earlier they would rather leave.

6. Remember, this is about being humane to your beloved animal—and to yourself.

“It’s all about thinking through the best way for it to happen so you’re not wishing you had done something different,” says Derek. Death is hard enough without regret.

As I’ve said before, death is the appointment you can’t cancel. It is an inherent part of life. The process of thinking through these things, talking about them, asking questions, and addressing them ahead of time is so important, for yourself and for your pet too. It erases the uncertainty of ignorance and grants stability to a topic that can often feel uncertain. Planning for euthanasia, though difficult, is a way of helping them live out their final moments in peace and as much comfort as possible. It is a kindness, not a cruelty. For both of you.