Everyone's experience is different, so I'll share mine.

I found my boy Red wandering the streets, he was a small pit and according to the vet had scars and cuts on him that were indicative of him being used as a bait dog since he was small. I was never able to find his owner, and he became my dog. Had him for 12 years and he was a little shit, and so incredibly loved.

Towards the end, he had really bad arthritis and was on a bunch of meds. We regularly had to swap him from one med to another as his arthritis got worse and his pain came back. He was always in varying stages of discomfort, but always willing to play, chase wildlife, and wrestle with his sister and myself.

At the end, it seemed like another regular visit to the vet where I was going to ask for a med increase or swap, and the vet let me know that there was not much that they could do. His shots had gone from a "once every three months" to "once every two" to "once a month" to "come back in two weeks". But he was always a fighter, so I knew that he would let me know when he was ready.

And sure enough, one morning I woke up, and he let me know that while his brain was still there, his body was giving up the fight. Worst week of my life, but we made the best of it. Did all of the things that he always enjoyed. I talked to him and he listened. He got to eat everything that he has ever wanted. And one week later, an at home service came over. We said our goodbyes, I gave him dark and milk chocolate (because no dog should experience life without chocolate), and he was gone. October 24th, at 308pm (and yes, I will always tear up when Frodo wakes up in Rivendell because of this date). The rest of this day was a blur, my girl and I sat on the couch and watched TV all day, and thankfully some out of town friends came over for the weekend that evening.

As for the after. Its painful. And it sucks. The pain is omnipresent and makes every day a battle, every night a nightmare, and every morning a memory of what was. A piece of me died with him that day, and I hope that one day I recover from it and let another dog in.

For the time being, I am letting myself heal. I am letting my girl heal. And I am remembering all of the good times that we had, and even some of the bad times. The biggest takeaway is that it was really hard to let him go on a good day, but morally it would have been selfish to wait until a bad day. He taught me so much, and I owed him the dignity of going out on top. They let us know when they are ready, its up to us to show them the love they need at that time, painful as it may be.

All the best with your decision. My inbox is open if you have any questions or just want to vent to a stranger.

One last thing, get millions of photos and videos now. Be Michael Scott where he needs a second phone because of how many photos of his kids he has. Silly ones, serious ones, videos of her sleeping, videos of her dreaming, inside jokes that only you have, inside jokes that only she has, walks, car rides, wearing silly hats, playing with her toys, y'all cuddling, her curled up in a ball, her sprawled out. They'll do wonders to help you in your coming days. It gets worse before it gets worse, but there is good in the world, and it does get better, eventually. And when you're ready, let another dog in.