11/10/2025
It is (and never was) about what you need. It's about doing what is right for them.
As completely impossible as that is.
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I can't count how many times, now, my trusted vets and I have stood opposite each other of an exam table, both looking at one of my dogs, and discussed what "quality of life" really looks like.
On a scale of joy, the determinants vary with each soul in question.
I've had to say goodbye to dogs who have lost their vision. Their world grows dark and their new hindrance leaves them confused and afraid. You give them time to adjust, provide comfort and direction, but their joy is gone as they fail to find all the things they used to love. Quality of life doesn't have to be a complete body failure, sometimes it's just the loss of their most precious sense that leaves them as just a shell of who they used to be.
I've had to say goodbye to dogs in kidney failure. The constant plea to get them to eat, coupled with a consistent need for medication and fluids starts to create a hesitation on their face where they were once so happy to see you. Pushing pills and poking simply to try and buy more time can create a much more stressful end to a life well-lived than it has to be. Sometimes it's okay to just offer peace.
I've had to say goodbye to dogs with heart disease. You find yourself sitting on the couch with two gentle fingers on the inside of their back leg, counting heartbeats and feeling the irregularities. You know you have to get them to take their medication, but their condition makes them feel terrible and they don't want to eat anymore. Their breathing becomes labored and you know the doctor told you there was fluid present around their heart, but you can't get them to eat their hidden medication in every food source you can think of and forcing the pills creates a coughing fit that makes you feel even worse than you already did. Sometimes it's okay to simply manage the best you can and give yourself some grace when neither you, or they, can conquer that battle anymore.
Seizures, cancer, collapsing trachea, liver disease and mobility issues. No matter the ailment, no matter the story, the ending has never changed. There are times I had held on too long because my own heart wasn't ready, selfishly asking a failing body to keep trying. One thing I tell myself, and have repeated to friends, family, and my vet; is that it's okay to pull your beloved pet off the tracks when you see the train coming. You aren't required to wait for the big crash.
You don't have to wait until it's the worst day they've had to make a decision, and I encourage you not to when you know they are fighting a losing battle. If there is anyone who needs to hear this, please know that you do NOT love your pet any less if you decide to offer mercy when you see their little light start to dim. You do NOT love them less if you can't afford a myriad of specialty and university vets or the rabbit hole of diagnostic testing. It's okay to simply love them until the end. That's all they want from you, anyways. Just to be by their side until they take their final breath.
I took a final walk today with Sissy, just the two of us. It was quiet and peaceful and she sniffed around and followed me faithfully as I took slow steps to match hers. As I explained Sissy's struggle to breathe lately to Dr. Hegg, I brought up our walk and commented on how alert and happy she was in that moment. He responded, "Isn't it good you'll be able to remember her that way?" And it is. I didn't wait until Sissy was completely unable to breathe or find her passed away through the night and wonder if she suffered. I get to look back and know she still had it in her to take a final walk with me, and I'll choose that memory every time.
Loving old dogs has come with a lot of "heart practice" and ability to find the strength to make some really hard decisions. While I am always thankful for the ability to provide care, I am also thankful for the ability to prevent suffering. Loving them enough to say goodbye when it's time is the last gift we can give them.
