Euthanasia A Strain for Animal Care Workers

Public scorn compounds the stress. Mary Healey, chief operating officer of the Washington Humane Society, said she has been called "murderer" and "killer" to her face. There is a more searing insult, shelter workers said. "People say, 'I don't know how you can do this. I love animals too much,' " Brothers said. That comment suggests shelter workers don't, she said.

At the compassion fatigue workshops, workers share stories, Brothers said. They are taught to discuss their feelings with co-workers and release stress through relaxation, exercise and humor, she said.

Many workers say the best medicine is focusing on the animals they can help. "My lifespan is probably shortened as a result" of the stress, Healey said. "But . . . if I stop working for animals today, I will feel like I have done more for animals in my career than most people have done in their lives."

Primus said some Loudoun shelter workers will not enter the euthanasia room, even though it looks like any other exam room, with an elevated metal table and a Formica counter.

On a recent afternoon, veterinarian Valerie Campbell prepped inside the room. When she started in animal care three decades ago, she said, unwanted animals were sometimes killed in "decompression chambers," a method now condemned for its cruelty. Lethal injection is humane and best for suffering animals, she said.

"I always tell people: Death is not the worst thing that can happen to an animal," she said.

Soon, technicians brought in a gray-and-white cat that had been mewing in a quarantined cage 10 minutes before. Its sedated body was limp, its pink tongue lolled from its mouth, its emerald eyes unblinking. The cat had feline immunodeficiency virus, or feline AIDS.

Campbell shaved the cat's left front leg and inserted the syringe. The cat's eyes dilated, but it didn't move. Campbell listened for its heartbeat. Finding none, she pushed the cat's tongue in its mouth and its eyelids down.

She placed the carcass in a black plastic garbage bag and handed it to an assistant to place in the shelter's freezer.

Campbell and others charged with putting down animals say they concentrate on making the experience peaceful for the animal. One Loudoun shelter worker has a ritual of telling dogs that they are now free to chase cats in heaven.

Primus said she has her own rule for coping: Once inside the euthanasia room, she does not think of the animal as a pet.

That plan can be foiled, though, if the animal is not on board. "One dog was licking my face as they were using the syringe," said Steve Szot, 56, recalling a time he helped with euthanasia at the Washington Humane Society. "It took me days to get over it."

Szot said he was taken off euthanasia duty after superiors noted that he sometimes cried after the procedure. Szot now works as an evening caretaker at the Washington Animal Rescue League, a limited-admission or "no-kill" shelter, where he walks dogs but rarely deals with the public.

His stress level, he said, has plummeted.