Saying goodbye to a beloved dog is a terrible decision to make.  It is a decision, not really a choice because the obvious choice would be to keep your dog with you and not agree that his/her life is no longer worth living.

Euthanizing an animal is a multi-step process.  First, you notice changes in the animal.  They begin to exhibit pain when they move.  They may start to soil in the house.  They begin to nip or growl when touched in certain areas of their body.  They may choose to lay or sleep when they used to live for walks and romping with you.  Whatever the symptom, it soon becomes apparent that your furry partner is not themself.

In the beginning of a dog's decline, the symptoms are sparse and barely recognizable, unless you have a relationship with your dog where you know its every move.  I've had to say goodbye to three of my beloved dogs.  Each experience was completely different.

The first time I had to make the decision to put a dog down was my Old English Sheepdog.  His name was Sunny.  I rescued him.  He was 7 years old, shaved to the skin and sunburned.  He was emaciated and weighed only 40 pounds.  He was afraid of men and children (his abusers) and the wife of the owner placed an ad in the paper anonymously.  When I came to see Sunny, he was chained up on a short chain and the woman begged me to take him then and there.  She claimed she would tell her husband a story about how the dog escaped.  She said she could no longer bear to see it mistreated.  I looked into this dog's eyes and saw sorrow.  I was a college student and walked to school each night after cleaning houses all day.  I was fearful of walking alone, but I couldn't afford the gas money at the time and found that to be my only option.  I picked Sunny not only because he was a miserable sight and I felt sorry for him, but for selfish reasons too.  He would accompany me to class each night at the University so I could have a companion.  The set up worked great for both of us.  We both immediately feel for each other and were loyal to each other.  He gained weight steadily, loved walking with me and would dutifully sit by my feet through the 3 hour lecture without a sound.  As long as he was by me, that's all he cared about.  He also wouldn't stray if allowed to walk without a leash.  He stuck to me like glue.  We often would romp through the woods and he loved the freedom of the open path.  He was allowed to be curious.  It wasn't fun when he would get caught in burrs however, and it would take me hours to free him of the poky little things.  Sunny grew to 100 pounds of muscle and also grew a beautiful, lavish coat which took hours to groom.  He didn't care.  He loved me and was a faithful companion for five years.  When he was 12, we ran through a forest dwelling.  The next week, I noticed a large bug on his neck.  My mom took some pliers and it took all of her might to pull the tick, engorged with his blood from his neck, while I held my dog.  The tick came out with a chunk of Sunny's skin in its mouth.  I put the tick in a container and took both my dog and the bug into the vet's office.  At this time, in the mid-eighties, Lyme Disease wasn't well known.  Sunny began within the month to show signs of physical deteriation.  He would fall for no reason.  He cried and winced in pain when sitting or walking.  He cried a lot.  The vet thought cancer.  She said he was weakening at a rapid rate.  I had to make the decision to say goodbye.  Before I took him to the vet's office, I trimmed his hair so he wouldn't collect too many burrs and spent hours with him running through rivers, trees and open fields.  He was tired, sore but happy when I said goodbye.  I regret however that I didn't hold him.  I couldn't.  It was too hard to even see beyond my flood of tears as I watched the assistant take him into the back room.  I wish I had been there for him.  Kissing him goodbye.  I will always regret that I didn't.

The second time I had to make the decision was with one of my collies Shelby.  A beautiful Sable, she was one of the sweetest dogs I have ever had.  Not a mean bone in her body.  She grew up with my children and loved them.  She would sleep outside of their bedroom doors each night and guard them.  As youngsters, she would herd them toward the house if they ventured out too far.  She had a sister Ashley that she played with daily at the house.  Ashley and Shelby both came home with us at the same time.  Shelby was the thinker of the two.  My collies were always plagued by health issues.  Nerves.  They had intestinal problems that led me to shaving their hind ends because I tired of cleaning their bottoms.  I loved these dogs.  Shelby began to deteriorate when she was 12 years old as well.  She had experienced hip problems after being spayed, which had me suspicious as to whether the old veteranarian had made a mistake when doing the surgery.  She found it difficult to walk or get up.  Even though we walked daily her whole life, she began to stay at home while I took her sister.  She couldn't climb the stairs soon after and somehow, assigned Ashley to now guard the bedroom doors; something Ashley never had done before.  She would urinate or defecate and lay in it, unable to rise and go to the door.  I had to make the decision to end her life as I could see she was miserable.  I chose to hold her close that day, kiss her and tell her I loved her as the vet gently administered her shot.  Her sister, Ashley sat nearby.  I wanted Ashley to be able to say goodbye.  My children both hugged her before we left.  My ex sobbed as I drove away.  Neither of them wanted to be present when her life ended.  Shelby gave one big breath and she was gone.  Ashley cried and sniffed her sister.  I sat on the floor of the clinic and cried for 20 minutes while stroking her fur. 

Ashley was the third and last decision I had to make.  I was surprised that after living her entire life with Shelby, that she lasted two more years.  Perhaps the cats we had gave her company and comfort.  She developed a type of Alzheimer's for dogs.  Whenever she saw light, she would squat.  I spent a year cleaning up after her.  She had never lived outside and I couldn't expect her to now.  She was pure white with a big brown spot on her back and some brown on her face and a beautiful sight.  She seemed carefree and a bit air-headed many times in her life but a wonderful dog who loved to play hide and seek with us.  She began to go blind and deaf and while she never showed pain, I could tell she was deeply depressed each time she couldn't find the door and would defecate on the carpet.  When I spoke to my vet, he suggested euthanizing her.  Her quality of life now was making her more upset than happy.  I also couldn't continue to clean my carpets and floors four times daily.  The decision wasn't easy.  The kids and I took pictures of us hugging her.  I took her in and held her and kissed her and stroked her fur.  She reacted to the shot differently; she seemed like she was trying to run.  I didn't believe she was gone.  My vet said that her muscles spasmed.  Her end was more difficult for me to grasp and I stayed in the room with her apologizing to her heavenly body and hugging her, telling her she was the best dog in the world.

I had all of my dogs cremated.  They were all over 100 pounds and I couldn't lift, let alone bury them in my yard.  I too wish to be cremated, so I felt that this choice was appropriate for my blessed beasts as well.  Not a day goes by where I don't think of how these three dogs touched my life.  As I look at my three dogs living in my home today, I realize that I am a better owner and person because of all the dogs that have touched my life.  If there is a dog-Heaven, I know that Sunny, Ashley and Shelby are running freely and happily without sadness and pain.