My moral repugnance toward euthanasia goes back a very long way. In 1967, at the young age of twelve, an insight hit me: "I don't think that people should put their dogs to sleep. If they think that's OK, some day they'll start doing that to people."
I've never forgotten that thought, and I've watched in horror as our society has gown more and more accepting of killing people who are perceived as burdensome. I've spent countless hours criticizing the euthanasia movement in both speech and print. I've resisted the temptation to allow euphemisms about euthanasia to enter my language. I've tried to convince relatives of the dangers lurking in their living wills. And the dogs in my life all died on their own, so I never had to violate my conscience on this subject.
Until the Saturday we celebrated the fifteenth birthday of my beloved golden retriever.
Noelle was riddled with cancer and arthritis. She'd outlived her veterinarian's prognosis by more than a year, and I was starting to call her my energizer bunny. But on Wednesday, she awoke with her hind legs completely paralyzed. I upped her medications, and they did nothing. For a couple of days, I hand fed and watered her, untangled her twisted legs, lifted her, cleaned her, and made her comfortable as best I could. She would look at me hopefully and cock her ears as if to say, "I'm in trouble, but I know you can fix it." I'd always been able to before.
But this time I couldn't fix it. And so I had to face the difference between the purposeless suffering of an animal, and the inherent worth and dignity of every human person, no matter how ill.
Our Church, in her beautiful, God-given wisdom, tells us, "Animals are God's creatures. He surrounds them with His providential care. By their mere existence they bless Him and give Him glory. Thus men owe them kindness" (CCC 2416).
But our Church also cautions that our love and kindness must be balanced in a proper moral order. "It is contrary to human dignity to cause animals to suffer or die needlessly. It is likewise unworthy to spend money on them that should as a priority go to the relief of human misery. One can love animals; one should not direct to them the affection due only to persons" (CCC 2418).
Primarily, we are called by God to take care of the people in our lives. "Those whose lives are diminished or weakened deserve special respect. Sick or handicapped persons should be helped to lead lives as normal as possible" (CCC 2277). Toward those ends, we have wheelchairs, feeding tubes, respirators and diapers to help people when their bodies fail. These devices allow us to assist broken bodies and maintain the dignity of the human soul.
It is true that there are canine versions of these devices. But while the inherent worth of a human person makes such care ordinary, when it comes to a sick though beloved pet, these devices may be considered extraordinary treatment. The affection due to persons requires us to change their diapers; my dog was in agony just having water on her hind legs.
And so I wrapped Noelle in a comforter, and took her to the vet. I hated the platitudes they used: "This is the final act of love," and "Our dogs will be with us in heaven." I didn't want to fool myself. The truth was that I couldn't help Noelle anymore, no one could. Even to try would be taking resources away from the people in my life.
My daughter in Texas stressed that if Noelle had been in the wild, she would never have lived this long. My youngest, who runs a dog-care business, said that even the two now-deceased dogs she'd cared for never got this bad.
Yet, I hate that I had to do this. I don't know how long it will take me to get over it. But I've learned two important lessons from this heartbreak.
The first was that no matter how much you love an animal, sometimes you can't help it anymore. Death truly becomes the only solution. Jesus Christ gave human suffering redemptive value when He died on the Cross, but the suffering of an animal serves no purpose.
The second lesson was that I was right when I was twelve years old. Our society has lost its sense of the inherent sacredness of human life. To mask our pain at euthanizing beloved pets, we've allowed ourselves to think that euthanizing a person is an act of love.
We must fight this morphing of attitudes and collapse of meaning and recognize the proper moral order of creation. The sacredness of the human person requires our care, our compassion, our time and our resources. Of course, our Church draws the line at over-zealous, burdensome treatment. But we must not draw that line in the sand too early.
And we must protest the violations of this order within our society. We must protest the Dr. Kervorkians, the Michael Schiavos, and the physician who put a plastic bag over her autistic 3-year-old's head. We must insist that these are not acts of compassion; these are acts of murder.
We must re-establish within our society a sense of the sacredness of human life. Those of us still healthy must defend and care for the weak, ill, and aged. It is critical to the health of our society and, as we ourselves age and become infirm, to our very existence.
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