Johnny Springer’s job might seem like one of the worst jobs in the world. But Springer doesn’t see it that way.

Springer is the cremation services manager at the Humane Society of Central Oregon. He handles the remains of every animal that dies at the Humane Society, every animal brought in by its owners for cremation, and some that have died at local vet clinics.

About 15 formerly beloved pets per week meet their final disposition at the hands of Springer, who says goodbye, gently places their bodies in the gas-fired crematorium at the Bend animal shelter, and burns them to ashes.

I couldn’t do the job. Could you?

But Springer sees it as an honor that he can ease the passing of these animals and in so doing, provide some comfort to bereaved owners.

“It is the most difficult job here,” says Humane Society spokeswoman Lynne Ouchida, “the most difficult emotionally and physically. And emotionally, it’s the most important.”

Adopting an animal, Ouchida said, is all smiles. The emotional impact of the relationship between the pet owner and the Humane Society, though, comes at the end of an animal’s life. That’s when the nonprofit organization can offer its myriad services for dying and deceased pets.

Springer knows how important his job is. He’s seen the tear-streaked faces of people bringing their dogs in for cremation. He once sat with a woman who clutched the body of her orange cat in her arms for 45 minutes before she could let it go. He has seen countless people drive away from the shelter only to stop a few yards down the driveway, breaking down in sorrow, unable to drive on.

“Being around the animals is not the sad part — they’re not in there anymore,” Springer said. It’s the pet owners who represent the grief.

“Their world has just been shattered,” Springer said. “When they hand it to me and walk away … it’s an intense moment. They don’t see me cry after they leave.

“All they need to hear from me is, ‘I’m going to take really good care of them.’ ”

And so he does. He gives each animal a final pat. He tells them their owners loved them.

“And at night before I shut the door, I tell them to come find me in whatever comes after, so when I pass, I’m going to be greeted by all these animals,” Springer said with a big smile. “It’s going to be phenomenal.”

Springer, 48, left a 20-year career in the TV news business to work at the Humane Society, where he’s been for five years. Now, he can’t imagine doing anything else.

“What I do matters so much,” he said. “I am acutely aware that every animal I take care of was someone’s loyal companion.”

Like Sundance, Springer’s 13-year-old golden retriever, who died Dec. 3.

“I was shattered just along with everybody else,” he said. “He was my best friend.”

Springer sketched Sundance’s life in brief stories punctuated by an occasional catch in his voice. He was crazy when Springer adopted him — “ate-a-couch crazy.” He was a loyal traveling companion on an otherwise lonely, long drive from Texas to Alaska. Once, when Springer was so sick he couldn’t get out of bed for three days, “that dog was by my side the entire time,” he said through his tears.

Grieving a pet is a tricky business. Though most people consider pets to be family members, their deaths can straddle a fine line between sadness and devastation: It’s sad, but it’s just a dog; it’s devastating because it’s never just a dog.

Which makes Springer’s job all the more important. He devotes incredible care and compassion to cremating pets with dignity — and occasionally with a favorite stick or tennis ball.

“It’s an honor,” he said. “I am the last person to ever see this animal. They had lots of love in their lives, and their deaths should be the same.”