It’s Cruel to Deceive a Child by Arguing the Merits of a Mercy Killing

When my uncle pressured me to shoot my dog, I sensed our relationship was coming to an end

Image by Walter Rhein — drawing by his daughter

“The kindest thing you can do is take that dog out into the woods and shoot it right between the eyes.”

My uncle delivered these words with a smug expression. He extended his finger and thumb like a gun and then tipped his hand back to mimic a blow across the barrel.

I was ten. I’d already been dragged out deer hunting with him and my other relatives though I hadn’t killed anything.

But he wasn’t done. Next, he subjected me to a complex lecture designed to justify his philosophy of cruelty. I suspect that the words he spoke had been handed down from father to son and perfected over the generations.

I didn’t realize it then, but looking back I can’t help but wonder to what extent he was trying to convince me, and to what extent he was trying to convince himself.

My dog seems sick, any advice?

I come from a large family and we used to get together with great regularity. Sometimes we’d meet at city parks for grilling and baseball. My family was large enough that we could field two full teams.

We’d sit around eating hot dogs and catching up. I was always on guard during those gatherings. I’d learned that if you weren’t careful, you could quickly become the target of derision. All of this was presented as if it were harmless teasing, but many people left those meetings in the throes of festering resentment.

“Our dog has been sick lately.”

I made the casual remark during a lull in the conversation. I’m not sure why I said it, maybe it was an attempt to deflect attention away from another area of vulnerability. Maybe I sincerely hoped to get some good advice.

“He doesn’t seem to want to eat. He just lays around.”

I didn’t expect that I’d soon be coerced into making a promise to shoot my own best friend.

Image by Walter Rhein

You’re hysterical, there is no other choice

My uncle pivoted to me with such intensity that I flinched. His boys, my cousins, turned to add the power of their stares as well. I had the disturbing impression of sitting before a tribunal.

“Shooting a dog is what you do. Anything else is cruelty.”

I felt reluctant to propose my dog’s survival might even be an option. I buried words I instinctively felt would be met with hostility.

Self-censorship.

How many of our conversations, even as adults, are influenced by silent inner dialogues we’re too afraid to speak?

I never said, “But I don’t want to murder my dog.” No opening to express that thought ever materialized.

Image by Walter Rhein

Respect the animal enough to do it yourself

I tried to suggest that maybe it was too early to discuss death. Maybe the illness was temporary. Maybe he’d recover. But no, no, my uncle was in a rush to convey his “wisdom.”

He began to lecture like a self-assured general about to send a legion of young boys to their deaths.

“As a dog owner, you have a responsibility to ensure your animal is not suffering. If you refuse to act, and you allow your dog to endure unnecessary pain, it shows that you’re a horrible person. You’re too weak and too cowardly to do what needs to be done. People like you don’t deserve to own a dog.”

I was reeling. How had we gone from, “My dog is sick” to “Shoot it in the head?” On top of that, now I was a bad person? I regretted saying anything.

I found it perplexing how they were in such a rush to skip over the intervening steps between sickness and death.

“The vet is going to charge you $400 to have the animal put down. A bullet only costs a couple of coins. If you ever cared for that animal, you should at least respect it enough to do it yourself.”

The crushing effect of peer pressure

Now my cousins spoke up, repeating the refrain like it was the chorus of a medieval play.

“Take him out into the woods and shoot him.”

“That’s the most humane thing to do.”

“Oh, he’s hysterical. We better drive home and kill the dog for him.”

That terrified me because I thought they might actually do it. I thought they might sneak onto my property and kill my dog, so I said, “No! No, if it has to be done, it should be me.”

But death isn’t as simple as people think

People say, “Take it to the woods and shoot it,” as if it’s easy. But that’s because they haven’t bothered to consider the complexities.

What if you don’t kill the puppy clean the first time? What if the puppy flinches? What if your puppy senses your act of betrayal and runs away? Puppies aren’t dumb. Do you really want that to be the final memory your loyal companion takes with it to eternity?

A dog is the living embodiment of trust and love. Trust and love should be handled with greater respect.

Even at the focal point of all their pressure, I couldn’t resolve how the concept of a “mercy killing” could be anything other than a betrayal.

But I also sensed it was futile to try and explain this to them.

You know that it’s wrong to lie…

I sat quietly, never saying no, only nodding in surrender. I wanted to distract them by projecting meek submission.

I guess they made me a liar because they forced me to promise that I would shoot my dog. I made that promise without any intention of ever following through.

I knew that lying was wrong. That’s one of the first lessons children are taught. But I also think it’s wrong to coerce the innocent into making promises that do not align with their authentic inner nature.

With time, the topic of conversation changed, but my uncle and his brood didn’t leave until they felt reasonably convinced that I had accepted their sick ideology of cruelty.

Image by Walter Rhein

I suspect that all of them had killed their dogs

My dog got better.

He went on to live a long life and died peacefully of natural causes. But even that was scant consolation. When my uncle and cousins saw that he was alive, they looked at me and shook their heads.

They didn’t perceive proof of the flaw in their logic, they only saw evidence that I was a liar.

In their eyes, I was weak.

In their eyes, I lacked the necessary resolve.

But I’ve never once regretted not killing him.

It’s terrifying how easy it is to use words like “kindness”, “love”, and “responsibility” to justify acts of violence. The tragic part is that so many people have succumbed to this argument.

I think deep down, they knew their philosophy to be false, that’s why they are so desperate to convince others to commit actions that cannot be undone. That’s why they all piled on when they saw me reject their reasoning.

It’s too painful for them to recognize that all the dogs they murdered might have lived.

There are better lessons to teach our children

I learned that I don’t have it in me to drag my dog out into the woods to shoot it, and I reject the argument that this is proof of a flawed character.

Instead, I think we should be mindful not to succumb to rash decisions. We shouldn’t rush to perform an act of violence because we want to spare ourselves the pain of dwelling on the inevitable.

Let’s embrace the assumption that cruelty is not necessary.

There is another lesson that our children have a right to hear along with don’t steal and don’t kill. We should teach that once you betray the trust of sincere love, one way or another, you spend the rest of your life paying.

Cruelty is not inevitable. I’m confident that if you do your due diligence, you can always find a solution that better aligns with your generous spirit.