Oh Elizabeth, my heart is breaking for you. Many of us, too many in fact, have been where you are now. It is a gut-wrenching decision to end a life. When the time came to release Tai and send her on the next part of her journey I knew, deep down I really knew, that it was the right choice.  The cancer had reappeared in another leg and she had lung mets – there was no escaping this reality. I promised Tai I would do right by her – she deserved that. I always liked the comment "rather a day too early than a day too late". Tai left this world with dignity and love, her tail was wagging, her eyes were bright, and she had just gnawed a big bone. I wouldn't have wanted it any other way. As Dan said at the beginning of this topic, there are many humans who would beg us to do what we have the ability to do for our dogs.

I will wholeheartedly support any decision that you make for Sammy. You will do right by him, I know you will.

My prayers are with you and Sammy.

Laura and Angel Tai

Scout went downhill incredibly fast– from a cancer-free, all clear, see you in 6 months check-up one week to the sudden inability to use hind legs the next.  Of course, this happened on the weekend, so we rushed him to the emergency vet.  He took one look at Scout and said "it's cancer; goldens are cancer factories and, clearly, he's already had cancer". I was in shock– it couldn't be– he' was doing so well.  When pressed, the ER vet (who was a complete jerk but also completely right) said his top 5 possibilities were cancer, but it could also be meningitis or a disk injury.  I asked for a chest x-ray–no mets–completely clear.  I was hoping against hope, so we took Scout home and scheduled an MRI the next day; we had the money.  The $1500 MRI confirmed cancer in the spine– remember, the ER vet knew this without one test.

After receiving the MRI results, the surgeon suggested we take Scout home and euthanize him the next day.  She sent us home with some pain meds, and I arranged for Scout to be euthanized at our home the next day.  Thus began the worst night of my life.  We carried Scout upstairs when it was time for bed and I laid down next to him.  He was panting, clearly in pain, and he could not sleep– he kept desperately jamming his front paw into my face– his eyes were full of pain; he knew this was it. I wanted to smother him to death right then and there to end his pain–  I still wish I had had the strength to do that for him.  But, because I couldn't, I gave him all the pain pills, hoping he'd drift off to sleep.  I ended up carrying him outside and we stayed outside together watching the lightning for the rest of that endless night. 

In our case, as God-awful as it was, it was a relief when the vet came– Scout was gone in a second; finally cancer-free, finally pain free.  The vet (who was also my neighbor) and I reminisced about our beloved first dogs, and then we loaded Scout into his truck to be cremated.  I retreated to Scout's bed and howled.

Beth, I am not sure why he was in such pain that night.  It's been almost three months, and that night still haunts me.

Charon said "i have stated on several occasions that i'd rather err on the side of 'a day too soon' than ' a day too late'"

This is so very true…

Oh Elizabeth – I know what you mean. You treasure every second, but second guess yourself every *other* second.

Still sending good thoughts your way and hoping to hear good news from Dr. Pam.
Hang in there!
Jackie, A.Abby's mom

{The line is from A Tale of Two Cities – finally read it 2 summers ago and loved it!}