The Story of Gus: Why I chose behavioral euthanasia for my soul dog.
This blog post was originally posted on my previous business blog, Misunderstood Mutt. It is mine, I own it, this is my story.
TW: behavioral euthanasia, dog aggression.
It is impossible to share every detail of Gus’ life that lead to this decision, I have done my best to share the major deciding factors and know that I can not fit every single detail and moment into one blog post.
Hi, I’m here writing the story about my soul dog Gus. My hope in sharing his story is to help someone who is going through this with their dog to feel less alone, to help others understand why people choose behavioral euthanasia, and to just try and break the stigma surrounding behavioral euthanasia. This isn’t an easy story to share and it will be long. I truly hope you can take the time to read this with an open mind to be able to better understand why some dogs just can’t be saved.
Gus was a very special dog, he was my soul dog, and his life ended with behavioral euthanasia.
I met Gus, who was named Everett at the time, in the fall of 2017 when I started working as a kennel assistant at a local animal hospital. Everett was around 6 months of age when his previous guardians started boarding him with us. He was different. He resource guarded his food, devoured it in under 30 seconds, would lunge at certain staff members, and never sat still. But for some reason, he was always so excited to see me and 2 other kennel assistants. We found a system that worked for putting him back in his boarding room that involved scattering his food inside of it, taking his leash off at the beginning of the hallway, and closing the door behind him as he was eating his scattered food.
When it came time for Everett to be neutered, I remember seeing him be truly aggressive for the first time. He would snarl, lunge, gator roll, scream, and so much more when the vet assistants were attempting to sedate him. And this is how every vet visit went with him after that.
As the years went on, Everett started boarding with us more frequently and for longer periods of time. Every time he came in he would be progressively more anxious, he was losing weight rapidly, he always smelt like urine, and his previous guardians were constantly talking to the vets about a solution for him. They wanted to help him but knew they couldn’t provide a life for him that would suit him.
I felt such a strong connection to this anxious, terrified, stinky, black and white dog. I would sit with him and cry, wishing there was something I could do.
I left my job at the vet in January of 2020 and began my journey of becoming a certified dog trainer through the Victoria Stilwell Academy. As I was working through my course, my partner and I bought a house, and the first thing I thought of was Everett.
My dream of being able to save that stinky black and white dog was about to become reality. I went back to my job as a vet assistant briefly so that I could save my soul dog. I had no idea what I was getting myself into but I just knew he deserved a chance.
On September 1, 2020 I officially adopted Everett. He came home with me at a whopping 29 lbs, covered in urine stains, his chest was completely bald and covered in blackheads.
I gave him medicated baths daily for the first month together, began home making his food to help him put weight on, gave him a safe room where he could finally relax, and started our journey together.
Everett’s previous guardians had told me that he was anxious and really just wanted to play with the other dogs but was too rough for them. He accepted Goose immediately, Remi took more work, and Potato lived in fear of him every day. There were a few instances where he would be completely fine and out of nowhere trying to kill her. He wasn’t him in those moments. He was different. And afterward, it would be as if nothing ever happened.
I consulted with a certified behavior consultant that knew him and she kept stating that something just isn’t right with him. That neurologically there is just something off. She asked me what my plans were if things didn’t work out. At that time I didn’t believe in behavioral euthanasia so I said I would rehome him. But I knew in the back of my mind that he could never be rehomed after this.
I read through his files and learned that Everett began displaying reactive behaviors as early as 16 weeks of age. Shortly after he also started to resource guard items. His previous guardians immediately contacted a certified dog trainer to help. He had a bite history by the time he was 6 months old to the dog trainer’s husband. Everett’s guardians were referred to a certified behavior consultant and started behavioral medication at that time as well.
Everett lunged and growled at every stanger, every dog, every car, and every kid that would pass by. Everett had a lot of big feelings about the outside world.
Everett then became Gus on December 25, 2020. He was no longer that skinny, pee-covered dog I had known for 3 years. He was more confident, happier, and goofier.
We increased his fluoxetine dose and began implementing decompression walks on long lines in quiet locations to give him time and space to actually decompress from the stressful life he had lived for 3 years. He had a room all to himself with a queen-sized bed and big cozy chair. Gus always ate his meals separately and had his enrichment separately to prevent any resource guarding. We had baby gates all over the house to make sure everyone was always safe.
Some things got better. And some things got worse.
Gus would charge at and try to attack my partner anytime he tried to let Gus in or out of his room. He began randomly trying to attack my partner with no warning when my partner would be lying on the couch.
My partner stopped letting Gus out and stopped lying on the couch.
Gus would begin playing with Goose and then it would quickly turn into him charging at Goose, barking at him excessively, and biting at his neck.
Gus was no longer allowed to play with Goose. And Goose stopped playing all together.
Gus was always on a leash when people came to the home because he would try to attack any person that came into the home. He would lunge, bark, and growl at them. And then the days following would be filled with more intense resource guarding and more intense reactions.
So I muzzle trained him and we stopped having him out at all when people came to the home. But then he would hear someone and would charge at the door of his room, trying to break out and attack the people.
So we completely stopped having people in our home.
Gus’ circle was small. His circle was me. And my quality of life started to deteriorate along with his.
I became a prisoner in my own home.
We went on so many adventures together, he learned to love exploring creeks, jumping on rocks, sniffing, and playing. But I could no longer go on vacations, I couldn’t leave my house for more than 4 hours, and I couldn’t have my friends come over.
Gus got sick in the summer of 2021. A horrible skin infection due to his never-ending self-mutilation turned into an increase in liver enzymes. During that entire process, getting him the proper medical care he deserved was almost impossible. He couldn’t be hospitalized due to his aggression, our treatments at home were stressful due to his aggression, and he began trying to attack me because he was sick. Physically and mentally.
He recovered physically. But never mentally.
I started learning more about behavioral euthanasia. Listening to podcasts from certified dog trainers and veterinary behaviorists, joining support groups filled with people who had been through it, and reading blog posts and articles about it. The more I learned the more I realized that this is the decision I was about to be faced with.
Gus was a dangerous dog. It took him knowing me for 3 years to be able to trust me. His adjustment period into a new home put him through a lot of stress and with 1 bite on his record with countless attempts to bite - he was a liability.
On July 12, 2021 I made the decision to behaviorally euthanize Gus. This was the worst day of my entire life. I was euthanizing my soul dog.
My brain was full of thoughts of shame, guilt, embarrassment, relief, sadness, anger, confusion…
I almost left the dog training profession altogether because if I couldn’t save him, why should I still be a dog trainer? Why would anyone ever trust me to help them with their dog knowing that I couldn’t even save my own dog?
And the reality is that not all dogs can be saved with training. Gus’ issues were not because of training. Gus’ issues were genetic. He was this way from the womb and you can’t change genetics. You can’t train away bad genetics from poor breeding practices. Gus was set up to fail from the very start of his life and I’m just grateful I could help him experience joy, love, and kindness while he was with me.
And you might be thinking, well did you try training him?
Yes. A lot of training. Like I said, you can’t train away bad genetics.
Did you try medicating him?
Yes.
What about switching his meds?
No, I didn’t try that and I’ll tell you why. I was scared of what would happen during the transition period of coming off of his meds and starting something new. He was already dangerous, I can only imagine how much more dangerous he would become.
Did you consult with a veterinary behaviorist?
No, because that was not an accessible option for me financially at that time nor is it always an accessible option for all dog guardians.
And my favorite question of them all is, why didn’t you try using balanced training or aversives with him before killing him?
Yes, many people phrase it in this way.
This is because aversive tools suppress behavior. Gus was already a ticking time bomb. Suppressing his behavior would have made him even more dangerous. Using punishment, fear, and intimidation to combat his aggression, resource guarding, and reactivity would have only made him more aggressive. It would be like trying to fight fire with fire. I wanted to provide him with a safe space to express his feelings. Turn the things he feared into things that predicted good things happening to him. His feelings were real and legitimate and if there is one thing I will never do as a certified dog trainer, it’s resorting to punishment because a dog is expressing their feelings. He was not “fixable” and behavioral euthanasia was the best option for him.
Gus’ brain was not wired right and forcing him to continue living a life where he’s always on edge, attacking out of nowhere, panicking constantly, and never having an off switch would not be providing him with a life of good quality.
And Gus was my soul dog. I don’t know any other words to explain what he was to me other than that. We were connected in a way that you only understand when you have a dog like him who chooses you to be their one person. I now choose to fill my memories with the good moments and let that part of him be what lives on in my heart.
To end this, I want to say…
You will never know what it’s like to have a special dog like Gus in your life until you actually have a special dog like Gus in your life. Before him, I was that person who judged people for behaviorally euthanizing their dogs instead of rehoming them. Now, I support those people and can provide a safe space for them to come to because of the stigma and judgment surrounding behavioral euthanasia. It’s a really hard thing to go through and people that have chosen behavioral euthanasia already beat themselves up enough for it so please try to be kind and compassionate. And if you can’t be either of those things, just leave them alone.
Educational Resources:
Euthanasia for behavioral issues: A complicated and difficult decision
Harsh Truths and Difficult Choices: The Reality of Behavioral Euthanasia
Em Fitzpatrick, VSA-CDT & FFCP
