There are parts of being a veterinarian I love: examining a new kitten, repairing a broken leg to see that patient running a year later, getting a big kiss from a pretty blonde (golden retriever). But I still dread the times I am called to help one of my patients die.

Humane euthanasia is the single greatest difference between veterinary medicine and human medicine. We are asked to end suffering in the most profound way. I do not and will not perform convenience euthanasia. In my opinion, this is a medical procedure that must have justification, an ethical decision that lets me sleep at night.

Thankfully, the process of letting a patient go is generally a very quick and peaceful one. Many people ask that their pets be “put to sleep” and to a great extent, this is exactly what happens. The medication commonly used for euthanasia is a very concentrated form of an anesthetic drug. It causes a rapid relaxation that places the patient into a very deep plane of anesthesia. The patient enters deeper levels of anesthesia until the body ceases to function. This process rarely lasts more than a minute, usually less than that.

As pets live longer, veterinarians are faced with more truly geriatric patients. The owners of elderly pets will often ask, “When will Fluffy’s time come?” I often tell my clients that I can do many things to keep a pet alive, but I can’t do much to keep one living. I simply ask them to judge their pet based on the quality of life it will have, not necessarily the quantity of life we can force it to achieve.

If my pets develop a terminal or progressive illness and have a diminishing quality of life, I’ll finally be forced to take off my lab coat and just be the guardian of a trusted friend. I will discuss with my wife and children the problems our friend is facing, and we will make the most difficult decision regarding one of our beloved pets.

Veterinarian James Herriot once wrote of the veterinary perspective of euthanasia. His words express the feelings of my profession far more eloquently than I could ever write.

“Like all vets I hated doing this, painless though it was, but to me there has always been a comfort in the knowledge that the last thing these helpless animals knew was the sound of a friendly voice and the touch of a gentle hand” (from “All Things Wise and Wonderful”).

— Dr. Michael Dill practices at Bienville Animal Medical Center in Ocean Springs, Miss.