I've lost five Bernese Mountain Dogs to death since 1998: two euthanized, two natural deaths waiting for DH to get home from his work (although I assisted the dogs by giving them extra doses of Tramadol, their pain med), and one terrible surprise death in February 2011 of a 6-year-old.
I've lost at least thirteen cats, all but two euthanized.
It is *always* a difficult decision. IMHO, it should be. The heaviness of the decision helps ensure that we don't make it lightly or whimsically, but rather with the entire picture of the animal's well-being in mind:
--Is he/she suffering? Can the suffering be reasonably ameliorated, or not?
--What quality of life does the animal have now, and what QOL can s/he look forward to?
--Is he/she still interested in food? If a dog isn't interested even in hand-fed "people" chicken, the QOL is pretty low.
--How much of your time can you give the animal to help with QOL without endangering your livelihood or the health of any other animals--or children!--who live with you?
--What does the animal tell you in his/her eyes when you stop using words and communicate heart to heart, soul to soul? "I'm tired, Mom; I need to sleep"? "I just need some help, then I'll be better"? Listen carefully; I kept one dog here a day too long, and the look she gave me that last, "extra" day was terrible. (Someone involved in her rescue couldn't visit until that last day.)
I just lost a sweet, precious 13-year, 4-month-old Bernese Mountain Dog girl on July 25th. She was much sicker than we knew. At 8:20 that morning, she pottied independently in the back yard and drank from the water bucket.
At 10:30, she didn't have the strength to support her own weight when I got her out of a difficult position on the floor.
Around 12:30 that afternoon, I told her that if she needed to leave before "Daddy" came home, it would be OK, we would understand. I sang her the "puppy songs" she had heard from the age of 16 weeks (the youngest Berner ever to come to our house; we're in Rescue, but we were a back-up home for any puppy from her litter). I laid down on the floor next to her dog bed and put my arms around her while singing the puppy songs. We think that one of the hemangiosarcomas we didn't even know existed until approx. a week later must have ruptured, because she was gone just about a half-hour later. I had just enough time to get back down on the floor and sing to her one last time. She simply went to sleep, white gums, no CRT (capillary refill time). I kept her here until DH got home from work at 5:45; then we took her to the vet for sample collection, to find out what had killed her. She lived to an old age for a Berner, but breed ethics demanded that we add to the health database for family information and the future health of the breed.
She was a Therapy Dog and a pack dog (for parades and as a service to me). She served us and we served her, both in life and, I hope, in death.
