A fragment of conversation anchored my feet to the floor, over-filled laundry basket perched on my hip. My two oldest children were playing with their plastic horses. One horse had a bandaged foreleg. My ears caught the syllable “—ize” come from my oldest daughter, then about six.

Her younger brother, about three at the time, said “What’s that mean?”

Caitlin replied, “We’re going to have to give her a shot so that she’ll die.”

My maternal brain glitched. “Caitlin, you’re going to euthanize your horse?”

“Yes, Mom. She isn’t going to get better. It’s unavoidable.”

Most kids aren’t given the lowdown on the how, what, and why of euthanasia while sitting in a booster-seat in the backseat of their mother’s vet truck. Had I my druthers, I would not have given a quick “Why mommy is about to give this horse a shot that will kill her” spiel to my kindergartener who had been having an otherwise lovely spring break seeing the cool animals. But, an emergency colic had turned out to be far worse than expected, and I was forced to acquaint my daughter with the reality that sometimes Dr. Mom can’t fix the animals, sometimes they won’t get better, and all we can do is make their pain go away faster. Meanwhile, I frantically drew pentobarbital into two large syringes.

I was sure I’d scarred her for life.

After all, aren’t we supposed to tell children that their dog retired to a farm in the country, or that the hamster escaped and is living a life on the lam in the French Riveria? Surely kids are too fragile for the realities of death, and especially for the knowledge that sometimes veterinarians cause death.

Many euthanasias, and many explanations to children later, I’m convinced of the opposite. Most kids handle a direct discussion of the end of life pretty well. It’s grownups who struggle to cope.

Not only was Caitlin apparently undamaged by the knowledge of euthanasia, but she found a way to role-play it and process it herself. A few months after the plastic horse episode, my grandfather lay dying of leukemia. After I explained that Grandpa Bligh was very sick and that the doctors couldn’t make him better, Caitlin asked me, “Mom, can’t they just give him that shot? The one you give the horses when they won’t get better? The one to make him die sooner so he won’t hurt anymore?”

We had the conversation again a few years later, this time with her younger siblings. Our 16-year-old German shepherd had developed a severe hind-end neuropathy and had lost any measurable quality of life. I explained that Jasmine was very sick, and that I couldn’t make her better, and that even the dog doctors I worked with could only give her medicine that might make her live longer, but wouldn’t fix her. My son was in tears. “I don’t want Jasmine to die.”

“I don’t either, honey, but she’s very old, and she’s in a lot of pain, and she can’t even control where she poops, and she hates that. Do you want to keep her feeling that way just for us?”

He thought. And being a methodical child, he thought some more. “No. That wouldn’t be fair.” Aidan is big on fair.

I do still periodically hear “I miss Jasmine. I wish you hadn’t had to kill her.” It’s only been five years. I’m sure they’ll stop soon.

Maternal guilt aside, some tactics work better than others for explaining death and pet loss to children. I’ve euthanized animals in the presence of children, with children around for one last goodbye, in emergency situations where there was no time to take the kid out for ice cream, and I’ve found certain things that help – or seem to. Many of these things aren’t just veterinary communication. Parents, grandparents, neighbors, aunts, uncles, and random friendly aliens can all facilitate this process. It takes a galaxy.

1. I always ask the child to tell me about the animal. What is your favorite thing about Lucky? How old were you when you guys got him? What do you love to do with Lucky? 
2. I always explain the process of euthanasia if the parents give the okay. The unknown is scary when you’re a kid. Think back. Were you afraid of the things your parents and teachers told you about, like fire drills? Or were you afraid of the stuff where you knew grownups were leaving something out? It’s the monster under the bed that haunts our childhood nightmares. The childish imagination can invent bogies far worse than information.
3. I use the word euthanize. I explain what that means. I never, ever say “Put to sleep.” Really, folks. Isn’t bedtime hard enough? Also words are powerful, and when you’re small, knowing a big word gives you power. If you can’t control the loss of your pet, it’s pretty cool to have at least one new word that your friends might not know.
4. I ask the child if he or she likes to draw. Almost all do. A few have told me that they’d rather write stories. I once had less than five minutes to give the entire euthanasia speech to a little boy whose pony was suffering from an agonizingly twisted gut before our eyes. I wanted to get him away from his dying pony as soon as I could, so I asked him to go to the house with his mother and draw me a picture of Ben the pony the way he most wanted to remember him. A few days later the mail brought a crayon picture of Ben in better days and an effusively grateful note from the mom for helping her son and his pony. When we euthanized Jasmine, Aidan drew me a picture. I firmly believe that re-creating those good memories imprints something other than the stamp of death.
5. If the child isn’t to be home or present, and the parents ask my opinion, I always suggest they tell the truth. Kids are great lie detectors. Telling them that the dog ran away or that the horse suddenly joined the circus, or that the goldfish is living on a farm in Connecticut is a great way to kill your parental credibility. Don’t go there. If you’re uncomfortable telling your kid that you had the vet give Fluffy a death shot, at least say that Fluffy died painlessly.
6. I always, always ask if the child has any questions, and I always answer them. Folks, don’t be embarrassed by your child’s curiosity. This is big stuff. Kids need to know the answers. I never found questions a burden. I always believed that I was building a new generation of good veterinary clients.
7. I let the child and the parents know that it’s okay to be sad. It’s okay to cry when we lose a friend. I’ve been known to cry with them. We live in a culture that often tries to deny, minimize, or sensationalize death. Death is a part of life. A loss is a sad thing. The mind needs to absorb and process that loss. And for children, the loss of an animal is often more real than that of a human. My kids have cried far more over our pets than they did over any of their great-grandparents, despite being fairly close to the latter. To them, the pets were more real.
8. Every child is unique. And every situation is unique. Parents sometimes ask if their child can/should be present for euthanasia of a family animal. The best answer I have is: “It depends.” Emergency colic episode aside, none of my kids has been present when I’ve euthanized an animal, particularly our own. When it was Jasmine’s time, they said their goodbyes and went to the movies with my husband while I took care of the rest. Some children are scientifically curious and process facts better than the unknown. Those children may benefit by seeing euthanasia all the way through. Other kids, such as my son, are much more sensitive to emotion or may be a bit squeamish. For those children, it’s probably best to say goodbyes in a controlled setting. Also, while euthanasia is painless, it is essentially an anesthetic overdose, and animals may react unpredictably or show a variety of end-stage physiologic responses, such as gasping, paddling of legs, and loss of bladder and bowel control. Horses, for instance, rarely sink quietly to the ground, so even a “smooth” euthanasia can look dramatic to someone who is unprepared. A teenager may want/need to be present, but a pre-schooler would be unlikely to understand the situation, and monitoring a young child might further stress already grieving parents.

Your veterinarian may or may not have the time or temperament to do any or all of these things with your child, but as someone special in a child’s life, you can help give them the tools to better understand the loss of their animal.

Just don’t be shocked if the teddy bear or plastic horse meets with a humane demise. It’s all part of the process.