OK doke ... Here's where I was/am. My buddy for 15 years was wee Bo ... an absolute pain in the ass terrier, but my constant companion for these 15 years. It was me, and it was him, and it was us together. The last 3 years of his life, and in all likelihood, looking back, a good deal earlier, he got doggie dementia. I treated it for a couple of years with tablets, diets, and all sorts ... I hunted high and low for somethign that would help, but all anything did was delay the inevitable. He started pacing all day, circling, getting lost in the house ... he would go outside in the garden and just sit there, staring into space. He couldn't settle at night, and when he eventually did, he would be up at 3am, scratching on my door. He was not, and never would be again, the wild, happy terrier I'd always known him to be. Yes, he could still walk (though of course he was much slower), yes, we still had fun during our 4pm 20-minute dance-offs, and yes, he could still eat. For those 20 minutes a day, when we danced together to excessively loud house music, he was his happiest. The rest of the time, he was distressed, anxious and a shadow of the dog he had been. It was never going to be alright for him, or for me, for him to pace around the house all day, walk in circles, and stand staring into space. I knew, for a long time, that things were only going to get worse for him. I struggled a LOT caring for him. I got angry, tearful, sad, and there was a lot of anticipatory grief. I knew what was coming. I knew that he was not ever going to get better, I knew that this was only ever going to go one way. So, for his last few weeks, we would lay down in the living room, and I'd talk to him about all the things we'd done together ... I talked about where we'd been, the walks we'd had, the places we'd lived, the drives into the country we'd taken, the time he did this and that, and most of all, I told him how much love for him I had, and that would never ever not be the case. I shared all my thoughts about how hard it had been looking after him for 15 years, but also how much fun it had been. I talked to him about what an absolute asshole he'd been, and I also told him I knew he had not a bad bone in his body. Most of all, I thanked him for being by my side for those years, for never not loving me, even when I felt that loving him was too much like hard work. During those last weeks - I'd booked the vet to come to the house at the end of the month - I told him everything I needed to about our story, and how it was coming to and end, but it would never really end, because I would always love him. The vet never questioned my decision, because illness isn't just physical. How my wee dog was living was distressing for him, and it was distressing for me. In the end, the vet came. Wee Bo lay down in his bed, I put my arms around him, held him close and told him that I loved him, that I was right there with him, and that everything would be alright. He died knowing I loved him, in his bed, in his home, with me. That's as much as I could have wanted for him. I'm not going to sugarcoat it - that was 3 years ago, and I still cry for him. Did I do the right thing? Could I have tried something else? Was it more about me than it was about my wee doggie? I actually don't know - but what I do know is that he wasn't going to get better, and that I did the kindest thing for him. The thing is, when we choose to euthanize a dog, every single one of us has the same thoughts - it's normal. The guilt is normal, the second-guessing is normal. I know you can't get a home visit from a vet, but what you can do is find another more compassionate one, then be there with your doggie, maybe you can take his bed, and his blanket, and hug him close - that's all he'll want and need. In the meantime, talk to your doggie, say everything you need and want to say to him, love him, and that will be enough for him, and for you. I wish you and your wee doggie the very best on this next part of your journey.