It was probably the best way she could have gone. She was 13. Her health had been a roller coaster for a few months. She had refused her breakfast that morning, and I knew by the end of that day she’d either be gone or we’d have a date set. I was able to take the day off work to be with her. She was my retired guide dog. My supervisor and coworkers had seen and interacted with her before her retirement, and that made the situation more concrete for them.

She ate a bit of lunch around noon, and I spent quite a while next to her on the floor listening to her breathe. She even seemed to perk up an hour or so before the vet appointment. I was nervously eating a bag of chips and she snapped the crumbs that fell to the floor as quick as ever. She got in the van fine and trotted into the waiting room. We sat down and I swear she looked around, said “Welp, now’s a good a time as any”, and gave up the ghost. I was obviously devastated but also relieved that she saved me from having to make the hard decision.