There are many important moments in a veterinarian’s life.

The first puppy vaccination. The diagnosis that changes everything. The surgery that saves a life. The sick animal who finally gets better and goes home.

But over the years, I came to realise that there is another kind of veterinary visit that carries a significance unlike any other.

The final one.

I began my veterinary career doing what so many veterinarians do. I cared for animals throughout all stages of their lives, and for many years I worked as a mobile veterinarian, travelling to people’s homes to provide routine veterinary care. I loved the privilege of being invited into people’s homes and getting to know their animals in the place where they felt safest.

But gradually, something became increasingly clear to me.

Of all the visits I made to someone’s home, the ones that mattered most were not necessarily the ones where I was treating an ear infection, giving a vaccination or diagnosing an illness.

They were the visits where I was there to help a family say goodbye.

And so, my career began to change.

I came to believe that end-of-life care deserved the same compassion, thoughtfulness and expertise that we give to every other part of our pets’ lives. More importantly, I came to believe that saying goodbye should not simply be about the moment a pet dies.

It should be about everything that happens before, during and after that moment.

It should be about comfort.

It should be about dignity.

It should be about love.

And, whenever possible, it should be about giving families the opportunity to say goodbye in their own way, in their own home, surrounded by the people and things their pet loves.

Gipsy and Taffy

My understanding of how precious that final moment can be is not simply something I learned as a veterinarian.

I learned it as a pet owner.

Gipsy, my beautiful Pomeranian x Chihuahua, and Taffy, my Pomeranian, were two of the great loves of my life. I was fortunate enough to be able to say goodbye to both of them at home, in my own arms, before anything like Paws Forever existed.

I was their veterinarian.

But in those moments, I was also simply their person.

I knew them. I loved them. I knew their little personalities, their routines, their favourite places and the things that made them happy. And when the time came, I was able to be there with them, holding them, talking to them and reassuring them as they peacefully passed away at home.

Those experiences stayed with me.

They changed the way I thought about euthanasia.

Because euthanasia is not simply the end of a life.

It is the final act of care we can give our animals.

It is the moment when we can take their fear, pain or suffering away and replace it with comfort, familiarity and the reassurance of the person they trust most.

And that is what ultimately led me to create Paws Forever in 2015.

A lifetime spent preparing people to say goodbye

As a veterinarian, I have spent much of my life helping people navigate the difficult journey towards the end of their pet’s life.

I have talked with families about quality of life.

I have helped them recognise when their pet may be struggling.

I have answered the questions that nobody really wants to have to ask.

And I have sat beside countless people as they have made one of the most heartbreaking decisions they will ever have to make.

I have learned that there is no perfect way to say goodbye.

Every family is different. Every animal is different. Every relationship is different.

But I have also learned that there is an enormous difference between being given the opportunity to make that decision thoughtfully and having the choice taken away from you.

Sometimes that choice is taken away suddenly and unexpectedly.

Sometimes an animal deteriorates so rapidly that there is no time to prepare.

And sometimes, heartbreakingly, we wait just a little too long, hoping for one more good day, one more morning, one more sign that things might improve — only to find ourselves watching our beloved companion suffer as their life comes to an end.

I understand why this happens.

We don’t want to let them go.

We are frightened that we are making the wrong decision.

We hope they will tell us when it is time.

But our pets cannot explain what they are feeling or tell us when their suffering has become too much.

And when their final moments come, we may never know exactly what they experienced if they were frightened, alone or unable to breathe comfortably.

That is one of the reasons I feel so strongly about giving families another option.

When the time is right, euthanasia can allow us to choose the final moments of our pet’s life rather than allowing their illness to choose them for us.

It allows us to be there.

To hold them.

To stroke their fur.

To tell them how much we love them.

To thank them.

To apologise for the things we wish we could have done differently.

To tell them that they were the best dog, cat or rabbit in the world.

To say all the things that suddenly become so important when we realise we are saying goodbye.

And then, when they are ready, to let them go peacefully in the arms of the person they love most.

That is not giving up on them.

That is loving them enough to put their needs before our own.

Cora

And I know, perhaps more deeply now than ever, just how precious the opportunity to say goodbye can be.

At the start of 2026, I lost Cora.

Cora was our beautiful Greyhound Staghound cross, and she was only seven years old.

Her death was sudden and completely unexpected.

There was no long period of gradually preparing ourselves for her loss. No certainty that we would have time to have those final conversations. No carefully planned goodbye.

One moment she was part of our lives.

And then, devastatingly, she wasn’t.

Losing Cora reminded me of something I have spent my entire career teaching other people:

We never know how much time we have.

We cannot always control how or when our animals will leave us. Sometimes the decision is taken from us entirely.

And when that happens, the grief can be accompanied by a particular kind of heartbreak — the feeling that there were things left unsaid, moments we didn’t know would be our last, and a goodbye we never had the chance to give.

Cora reinforced for me why the work I do matters so much.

When we are fortunate enough to have the choice, being able to give our pets a peaceful goodbye — rather than waiting for a crisis to make that decision for us — can become one of the most meaningful memories we carry with us.

Paws Forever was created from this belief.

It was founded in 2015 with a simple purpose: to provide compassionate, professional veterinary care at the end of a pet’s life, in the place where they feel safest — their own home.

Since then, Paws Forever has become a dedicated service specialising exclusively in end-of-life care and in-home euthanasia for pets.

With more than 15 years of veterinary experience and more than a decade dedicated specifically to palliative care and home euthanasia, I have had the privilege of helping thousands of families navigate some of the most difficult days of their lives.

Today, Paws Forever is Australia’s most experienced and longest-established dedicated home euthanasia service for pets that continues to operate, and I am incredibly proud of the trust families have placed in us over the years.

But experience is not simply measured in years.

It is measured in the families we have helped.

In the animals we have held.

In the frightened owners we have reassured.

In the tears we have shared.

In the peaceful final breaths we have witnessed.

And in the countless times we have been invited into someone’s home at one of the most vulnerable moments of their life.

The final act of love

I don’t believe euthanasia should ever be thought of simply as the moment a pet dies.

I believe it is the final chapter of a life that deserves to be honoured.

Your pet has spent their life beside you.

They have been there for the ordinary days and the extraordinary ones. They have welcomed you home, comforted you when you were sad, made you laugh, followed you from room to room and become woven into the fabric of your family.

When their life comes to an end, they deserve to feel the same love and security that they have given you throughout theirs.

For me, there is something profoundly beautiful about being able to give an animal that final gift.

To allow them to fall asleep peacefully in their own home.

To have their family beside them.

To have familiar voices around them.

To be surrounded by love rather than fear.

And to leave this world knowing only the warmth and comfort of the people who meant everything to them.

That is why I chose this path.

That is why Paws Forever exists.

And that is why, after everything I have learned as a veterinarian, and everything I have experienced as a pet owner, I believe that sometimes the most important veterinary visit we will ever make is the one where we help a family say goodbye.

Because while we cannot choose how long our pets stay with us, when we are given the choice, we can choose how their story ends.

And sometimes, the greatest act of love is simply to be there, holding them, until the very end.