Was it hard to look into these trusting brown eyes, see that goofy grin, and know that I would be the one taking his life?
Unbelievably. When he had his MRI done, he spent the whole van ride looking at my husband and I out the rear window as we followed in our car. He hid his head in you, wiggled his rump high, and followed you around the house. He was a very, very, sweet, loving dog. It was not his fault that he could switch, within a second, into an extremely frightened or unrecognizably aggressive animal. That didn't stop the fact that he posed an extreme danger to others. It didn't stop the fact that his quality of life was rapidly declining. You are doing a good thing here. You are not handing him over to someone he doesn't know so that you can avoid this painful situation and decision. You are making the responsible choice.
Seeing how peacefully our boy went out, talking to others who had to do the same thing, and knowing that we had tried everything helped me feel less like a horrible murderer. It still hurts though. The going to the door to let in a dog who is no longer there. The image of his happy grin. Reminding myself about his howling and hiding under the bed, the fear, the shaking, the seizures, the time I just barely kept him from taking out an eye, the deep bite he gave our other dog...can help balance it. But really, the fact that he had a safe home, that he was loved and part of a family, that he had someone he did trust to hold him when he died...that helps me deal with it more.