Back in 2013, two days after Christmas, I had to have our beloved 18 year old dog, Hershee, euthanize. Her kidneys had shut down and she was in so much pain she could not even settle down for more than five minutes at a time. So the merciful thing to do was to end her life.
It's easy to talk about it now, but at the time it was as if a member of our family had died. Maybe this should not be, I mean after all, she was just a dog. But, whether we choose to accept it or not, Hershee felt that she was one of us, and we treated her as if we would treat any member of our family. We were her "pack" so to speak, and I trust that she felt herself a valuable member of that pack. She ate good when we ate good, was happy when we were happy and always tried to do her part, even if it was just to bark and growl at people she didn't know.
