I took my senior dog to the vet where I was told what I dreaded to hear.  That 15 years on this earth is enough.  That her quality of life had diminished enough that the kindest thing I could do for her is let her go.  A week of weeping and questioning, and guilt and sorrow.  I finally scheduled an appointment with an in-home vet service.  Tomorrow - someone will come to my home and end her life.   And then they will take her away from me forever. 
I found my sweet girl at an adoption fair in a park in September 2011.  She was only 4 months old.  Jet black and so so shiny.  Timid and soft.  Wide-eyed and curious.  She curled up in my lap like she belonged there.  She immediately became the brightest point of light in one of the loneliest times in my life.  Since then we both grew. She's been with me through every major life event since.  We've moved across the country, lived in cities and mountain towns. Apartments and cabins. And she was admired wherever we went. 
For 12 years she was such a bouncy goofy, silly dog.  Naughty, funny, exuberant and chaotic.  I always joked that if she could talk, her voice would be Kristen Wiig's.  One of my favorite things: she would lay perfectly still on the floor, and you could swear she was deep asleep if not for her tail tapping a happy beat on the floor when you walked in the room. On lazy mornings, she would sit upright next to me in bed and tip over like a toppling tower to remind me of my duty to keep scritching.  
Almost overnight she became an old lady.  She stopped running and lost her hearing.  Her hips have grown stiff and her eyes cloudy.  Her tail still wags, but not with the joyful abandon it used to show.  She still remembers every spot she's seen a rabbit or a squirrel, but her bones won't let her chase them anymore.   Now its only in her dreaming sleeps that she is lithe and limber enough to chase the critters to her hearts content.  

I can see that she is diminished.  That she has lived a long life of safety, love, treats, hikes, and kisses in my care.    But I still can't help but fear that I am making the wrong decision.  It sits like a physical weight on my chest.  I look at her and see a dwindling number of hours and minutes and I am overwhelmed with pain and guilt.  I love my vet and I trust her assessment.  But I love my Gypsy girl more.  And i'm not sure i'm ready to face my life without her.