Emma became a vet like her dad – then rethought how to treat dying pets

Veterinarian Emma Whiston, 54, is the youngest child of Nigel Clayton, 92, who was also a vet before he retired in 2004. Since Emma was little, the pair have worked together to put the family’s pets peacefully to sleep at home.

Nigel Clayton and Emma Whiston. “She was a natural,” says Clayton. “I admired her from the first day she came to work with me in 1994 as a newly qualified vet.” Credit: Elke Meitzel

Nigel: I came over from the UK in 1967 with my wife, Kate, four children – two boys and two girls – and my mother-in-law. We hadn’t expected another child, but I was thrilled when Emma was born. She was cheeky, always looking for trouble but never finding it – and she loved dogs. One of our dogs had puppies and she looked after them. I noticed her efficiency and kindness.

I was happy when, in year 10, Emma said she wanted to be a vet; the others had set their sights elsewhere. She was a natural. I admired her from the first day she came to work with me in 1994 as a newly qualified vet. She was very slow with appointments, but I didn’t interfere. I was reminded that you’re not just treating the animal, you’re treating the owner, too. I learnt from her that the kinder you are to people, the kinder they are to you.

‘I’m proud of her and very glad she’s carried on the veterinary profession in the family.’

Nigel Clayton

One day, a middle-aged man came in with his elderly mother, who was carrying a large, porcelain dog. She thought her dog wasn’t well and wondered if it was time for her to be going to sleep. Emma got out her stethoscope, examined the dog quite seriously and agreed. They sat in the waiting room while Emma wrapped the dog up in a little blanket. And then she called them in to say, “Look, she’s sleeping now.”

Father and daughter in the early 1970s: “She was cheeky, always looking for trouble but never finding it,” Nigel remembers.Credit: Courtesy of Emma Whiston

We worked together in my practice for five years and got to understand each other pretty well. One day, in 2004, she told me she’d like to start a practice putting pets to sleep in their homes. I thought it was a wonderful idea; it helps the owners so much. They’re upset but also relieved and grateful to have it done in a familiar environment. We always came together as a family whenever any of our dogs needed to be put to sleep: in the garden, on the settee, in front of the fire. It was an event for all of us. Emma would help, calming the animal and comforting her siblings if they were upset, even though she was the youngest.

Emma is very sensible – an excellent mother – and someone you can always trust. I helped her with the business early on, but the more she went on, the less I had to do with it. I’d felt she might need looking after as a female, but she proved me entirely wrong. And then she started looking after me more, especially after Kate died four years ago, almost becoming a young mother to me by helping me with my finances and any worries about being able to look after myself. It’s the way relationships should go. As time goes on, a person changes from being very dependent to being helpful.

Emma’s biggest fault is timekeeping. If you want to see her, you make a time half an hour before you actually need her. But I’m proud of her and very glad she’s carried on the veterinary profession in the family. I’m happy that people now appreciate her the way they used to appreciate me.

Nigel guiding Emma through a surgery In the 1990s.Credit: Courtesy of Emma Whiston

Emma: I had an extremely fortunate childhood: fun, love and laughter, a big house in outer Melbourne with horses, dogs and rabbits. I adored my father. I’d be there when he came home from work. I loved his smell: surgery and methylated spirits. I was always on the floor with the dogs, or going to the toilet in the bushes with them. I pretended I was a dog for two years when I was little; I didn’t speak, just woofed. I’d sit next to Dad’s chair and he’d pat my head.

I enjoyed going with him to his clinic, but it didn’t hit me until I was in year 10 that I could actually do what he did. After I qualified, Mum used to say, “You’ve got surgeon’s hands, just like your father”, but I didn’t have the knack like him. He tried to teach me but I was clumsy. He got impatient and I felt like a failure. I finally got up the nerve to tell him that I didn’t want to be a vet any more; I wanted to be an actor – I’d loved drama at school – so I took a two-year break and studied acting. He was fine about it; he trusted me.

‘I pretended I was a dog for two years when I was little; I didn’t speak, just woofed. I’d sit next to Dad’s chair and he’d pat my head.’

Emma Whiston

I didn’t make it as an actor for various reasons but, about 20 years ago, I had an epiphany: I realised that the perfect career had been in front of me all the time, ever since I was a child. I returned to veterinary work and set up My Best Friend, an in-home pet-euthanasia service. It brings together vet expertise and acting training – animal knowledge combined with improvisation. I’ll do whatever’s necessary in an animal’s final moments: hop into bed, climb under bushes with a torch in my mouth. I euthanised one dog on a pool table with 20 family members standing around.

Dad got it straight away. When I stand on someone’s doorstep ringing the bell, I carry his legacy with me. I even have some of his tools and old medicines in my bag. I carry his generosity and kindness. It’s my calling.

I’ve always been able to talk to Dad about anything. Spending time putting your finger into dogs’ bottoms and getting sprayed by blood and urine is very grounding. I asked him about a lump on my bikini line. I asked him to be there when my son, Tom, was born in 2006. When my marriage ended suddenly last year, I called Dad. I wondered if it was selfish, sharing the difficult details with a 92-year-old, but he’s a wise confidant.

We talk about him dying. I’ve promised him that I won’t let him suffer when his time comes, that I’ll advocate for him. We tell each other that it will be OK when he dies because we’ve had a wonderful time. There’s no fear, nothing to regret. We’ve told each other everything we need to say.

Last year, [the directors] Jackson Hayat and Tom Buckingham made a documentary about my work called As The Leash Comes Loose. At its screening in [Melbourne’s] Balwyn Cinema, Dad stood up and said loudly, “That was the best film I’ve ever seen.” It’s straight-up love and loyalty. And from me, too. Whenever he walks into a room, even now, I’m like, “Ah, there’s my dad!”

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