My Worst Euthanasia

I want to tell you about the time I killed a wombat. This story shares an account of the most difficult situation of my student career thus far. It contains graphic content so PLEASE DO NOT read further if you find animal welfare or euthanasia distressing beyond your control. I found it distressing to experience and also write so I hope that those of you who read this find it meaningful.

The story starts with me driving along a country road by myself through a part of New South Wales that had been recently affected by a small bushfire. And as Australian bushland does, it looked about as alive as it had ever been; small green shoots of succulent grass were protruding from charred clumps where tussocks once stood standing a metre tall, new shoots of eucalyptus eager to recover from their charred and blackened trunks. It’s a view of nature that is at once shocking and inspiring – one that everybody should have the experience of firsthand. It was in this setting I saw a large male wombat chewing away – oblivious to the world – with his back to me.

Being the animal enthusiast that I am, I pulled over. I’m always eager to see native animals in the wild.

At this point my suspicions were raised. Anybody that has tried to sneak up on a wild animal (to get a photo, get a meal, or just to get a look) knows that they don’t exactly hang around. But this particular wombat wasn’t responding to my approach at all! I got out of the car and walked closer, expecting at any moment for it to suddenly hear me and tear off into the distance or down a nearby hole.

This is what I could see from my car.

 

I continued my approach until I was standing about a metre from the wombat when I actually had a proper look at it – it was covered in mange. Patches of its body were completely devoid of fur, with skin cracked and wrinkled with a whitish tinge. In some areas the skin was pink with irritation and sunburn. As bad and painful as mange is, that still didn’t explain why the animal wasn’t reacting to my presence… pain normally makes animals hyper-responsive.

I was this close to the wombat with no response. You can see the mange in this picture.

Moving around to the other side of the wombat I made a discovery that provided the explanation that I needed, but definitely not one that I wanted or wished for – the wombat was flyblown. For those of you who are not aware, ‘flyblown’ is a term used to describe the act of a fly laying it eggs in a live animal and the maggots then eating the flesh of that animal – often to the point of death. The cracked and damaged skin caused by the dermatitis and mange provided an avenue for the flies to penetrate, and from there they had eaten flesh around the head, neck and abdomen. It was a depressing to see.

Now, there comes a point in your life if you share it with animals that euthanasia becomes an issue you will be forced to consider. Euthanasia by definition is ‘causing death to remove suffering’, so wether it’s a farmer who has a seriously ill animal, or an arthritic dog that is in constant pain, it’s all the same. I’ve euthanised and killed many animals in my life, but always with the proper tools – wether that comes in the form of a firearm or an injectable barbituate. These methods ensure the minimal amount of suffering to the animal which makes using them easier, not easy by any stretch of the imagination, but easier.

In my situation at the time I had neither of these tools. I was by myself with an animal that was in an incredibly poor terminal condition in a remote location. This left me with the most personally difficult ethical decision I have had to make to date. Do I leave an animal to continue to be eaten alive by maggots, or do I use less-than-ideal methods to end this animal’s life and suffering. In the end I decided on the second option.

I searched through my car looking for something that I could possibly use. I found my car jack and tyre-iron, but neither one of these were heavy enough or sturdy enough to definitely stun an animal such as a wombat. I found a pocket-knife in my glove box, but this wasn’t sharp or long enough for me to be confident in my ability for a swift euthanasia. In the end I found a rock on the side of the road. I grabbed the largest one I could find – roughly half the size of the wombat itself. Even as I picked up the rock I was questioning my resolve – unsure of what I would do, or how I would cope with it should I fail in at least rendering the animal unconscious with the initial strike. After some self deliberation I reaffirmed my position and did what I had decided was needed.

Thankfully I struck true – ending the wombat’s suffering in one swift moment.

After ensuring he was no longer alive, I sat in my car with a tumultuous mix of emotions running through my head. Shock at the condition of the animal was mixed with double-guessing about the effectiveness of my technique; overarchingly however I was instilled with a deep feeling of peace. I had proven to myself conclusively that I was comfortable confronting my own personal barriers to advance the welfare of an animal. As a future veterinarian it is a sad fact that much of my interaction with animals will be in the ending of lives. This experience showed me that, while it may not be pleasant, it can be right.