It’s time to look back on 2023! Check our blog between Christmas and New Year’s for a variety of stories and memories of 2023 from the staff and volunteers of the Wildlife Center of Virginia.
My year at the Wildlife Center has been abundant in memorable cases typified by patient recoveries and releases. As a veterinary intern, I am incredibly grateful to take part in the healing that materializes in this hospital. Yet, amidst the more celebrated successes exists a quiet sense of fulfillment in providing a compassionate release from suffering. Within the nuanced boundaries of life and death in wildlife medicine, humane euthanasia is merely a clinical necessity. One somber yet memorable case underscores euthanasia as a privilege inherent in this work.
In late July, a juvenile raccoon was admitted to the Center after reportedly stumbling around a neighborhood. As an ardent raccoon supporter, I remained cautiously thrilled to see the species on our intake board, mindful that most raccoons beyond the neonatal stage present with severe injury or disease.
My heart immediately sank when I saw the raccoon. The patient was attempting to ambulate in what can only be described as an excruciating way. The raccoon was non-weight bearing on the right hindlimb, fighting to move on the remaining three. It overtly struggled to hold this limb in a tightly tucked position, occasionally succumbing to a light toe-touching motion. The raccoon would loudly vocalize upon any ground contact with the injured hindlimb and subsequently collapse as it failed to maintain its balance. After several attempts, the patient appeared to have accepted defeat, flattening into lateral recumbency. This was exceptionally difficult to observe due to both my fondness for raccoons and the patient’s very visible and audible anguish. In the realm of wildlife medicine, where stoicism is prevalent, witnessing such tangible pain is uncommon.
We deemed the raccoon neurologically appropriate, and sedation and analgesia were quickly provided. The physical examination confirmed the patient to be a juvenile female. A sense of heaviness, again, settled in my chest when her body condition score was determined to be a 1/5, meaning the raccoon was profoundly underconditioned. A thick coat had masked the extent of compromise, with every bony prominence of her little body readily appreciable on palpation. As expected, several abnormalities were noted in the right hindlimb. Radiographs confirmed numerous prior fractures, consistent with blunt force trauma. Advanced bony changes to the right femur and hip suggested a chronicity to her injuries. The raccoon was likely rendered immobile following trauma, where she suffered from starvation and general decline. Piecing the clinical picture together and recognizing the extent to which she had likely suffered was awful. Unfortunately, her injuries were irreparable.
Sedation had begun to subside toward the end of the full exam. Knowing her fate and neglecting any nutritional standards of the Center, I assembled a platter with only the finest raccoon comestibles: hard-boiled eggs, ham and gravy baby food, mice, and any other treats I could find (note: not an appropriate raccoon diet). A final meal is not something we provide for wildlife patients, as any source of human contact, even administering a meal, is stressful and should be avoided unless clinically necessary. However, after witnessing her attempt to consume a literal crumb in her cage, and because she had to be handled again for injections, I felt compelled. After threatening to shred my gloved fingers, despite her compromised condition, she was pre-medicated and left with her feast. In addition to their tiny, dexterous hands, and inquisitive eyes, the grit and vivacity of raccoons are some of my favorite attributes about them. Peering unseen from a corner, we watched this starving patient readily consume her final meal before peacefully falling into a deep state of sedation. Humane euthanasia ensued. Despite undertones of grief for all that she had been through, I felt an overwhelming relief for her and gratefulness that she had made it to the Center for care.
Although the essence of wildlife medicine and rehabilitation is rooted in the pursuit of healing, this case exemplifies the sometimes-dismal reality of our work. Unlike domestic animals, where routine health monitoring serves to prevent severe illness, our patients commonly arrive in grave condition. Wildlife is seldom encountered, let alone captured, in a healthy state. Their inherent resilience means they are often capable of persisting while compromised, only presenting to us when disease or injury skirts the boundaries of what modern medicine can remedy.
Navigating these cases involves a complexity of ethical considerations, weighing the potential for recovery against i) the immediate suffering, ii) the constraints posed by the stressful nature of captivity, and iii) the imperative that, once released, animals cannot receive ongoing care. For patients whose conditions defy the spectrum of recovery, euthanasia represents an intervention rooted in both compassion and realism.
The decision is certainly not easy, yet in each tough call lies a strange kind of tenderness – a parting gift of kindness to those tiny beings in need. Serving as a steward of wildlife involves not only preserving creatures but also ensuring a dignified death when necessary. I occasionally think about this raccoon, as I do other patients, and am met with a deep sense of gratitude for the work of the Wildlife Center, knowing that their final moments were those of peace and painlessness.
– Dr. Natalie Brown, Veterinary Intern