Their job is to help you grieve for your pet

This article is part of our special Pets section, about scientists’ growing interest in our companion animals.

Amy Conroy sat alone in a veterinary exam room, her hands clutching a water bottle and her eyes blinking back tears. Her 16-year-old cat, Leisel, was having trouble breathing. Now she waited for an update.

The door opened and Laurie Maxwell entered.

Ms. Maxwell works for MedVet, a 24-hour emergency animal hospital in Chicago. But when she sat down across from Mrs. Conroy on a Monday evening in May, she explained that she wasn’t there for the cat. She was there for Mrs. Conroy.

Ms. Maxwell is a veterinary social worker, a job in a little-known corner of the therapy world that focuses on relieving the stress, worry and sadness that can arise when a pet needs medical care.

Pets are no longer on the fringes of the human family. A 2022 study almost showed that half of Americans sleeping with an animal in their bed. As that relationship intensifies, so does the stress when something goes wrong. These emotions can spill over into animal hospitals, where social workers can help pet owners make tough choices, such as whether to euthanize a pet or whether they can afford to pay thousands of dollars for its care.

Although still rare, social workers in animal hospitals are growing in their ranks. Large chains, such as VCAthey start to deploy, just like big ones academic veterinary hospitalsThe service is generally offered free of charge. About 175 people have earned a certificate in veterinary social work from the University of Tennessee, Knoxville, a center for the field.

Ms Maxwell, who oversees the work of five social workers at five MedVet locations, also helps out during busy shifts.

In the room with Ms. Conroy, Leisel’s owner, Ms. Maxwell asked one of her favorite questions: “What role does she play in your life?”

Mrs. Conroy smiled. “Well, this is horrible to say because I’ve had other cats,” she said. “But she’s going to be my favorite cat I’ve ever had.”

Ms. Conroy said that when she brought Leisel home from a shelter in 2010, the cat was so scared that it took two years before Ms. Conroy could even touch her. Now the two are closely linked.

“I have social anxiety. And it can be quite debilitating at times,” Ms Conroy told Ms Maxwell. “I feel like she has social anxiety. We share that, you know?”

“Your soul cat,” said Mrs. Maxwell. “I think this is a once-in-a-lifetime cat.”

At the end of the hallway and around the corner, Dani Abboud, a social work student, sat on the floor talking to Gloria Reyes, her 11-year-old son Jesreel and her 8-year-old granddaughter Janiah. They visited Sassy, ​​their 12-year-old pit bull, who was experiencing serious complications from bladder surgery.

“Where were you before?” Mrs. Reyes asked Mx. Abboud with a laugh. Hours earlier, she had struggled to decide whether to euthanize Sassy or take her in for a second operation. “If I didn’t see life in her eyes, maybe,” she said. “I can’t put her down.”

“You know what’s in her heart,” Mx. said Abboud.

The social workers’ main job is to care for pet owners, but the vets and technicians – mainly nurses – say it helps them too. “I used to go home and honestly wonder what happened to a client,” says Dr. Amy Heuberger, chief of emergency medicine at MedVet in Chicago. Now, she said, “I can take care of more animals in one shift because I know the clients are still being taken care of.”

Elizabeth Strand, director of the veterinary social work program at the University of Tennessee, said having a therapist on staff became a selling point to attract veterinarians and other workers. The industry is a stressful one and suicide rates among veterans are higher than average.

After leaving Ms. Reyes and the children, Mr. Abboud, who uses the pronouns they/them, turned their attention to Evrim Topal, whom they had helped earlier in the day. Ms. Topal had brought in her family dog, Zorro, a 16-year-old cockapoo, because he was having trouble breathing. An examination showed that Zorro’s condition was not improving.

Mx. Abboud joined Ms. Topal in a “comfort room,” which MedVet reserves for euthanasia. Ms. Topal said her feelings were mixed when she first arrived. “I don’t think I was prepared to make this decision,” she said. But after talking about it, she felt at peace.

A few moments later, an assistant rolled Zorro in on a cart. A plastic mask provided oxygen. She scooped Zorro onto her lap while Mx. Abboud adjusted the oxygen line so he could breathe more easily. “Está bien, está bien,” Mrs. Topal whispered to Zorro.

After Ms. Topal spent some time alone with Zorro, she rang a bell to let the staff know she was ready. Dr. Heuberger joined Mr. Abboud in the room.

“Thank you guys for being here,” said Mrs. Topal.

Dr. Heuberger knelt on the ground and administered the lethal drugs. After a few seconds, Zorro’s breathing stopped.