The absolute saddest day in my life (so far).

Was the day I thought I was bringing in my first sheltie to have a tumor removed.  At the vet's office, per usual, I gave him off to the vet's assistant and I will never forget his typical look back at me as he's being walked off. He turns around as if to say, "do I have to?"

Half an hour later, the vet comes out to talk to me, and informs me that after opening him up on the operating table, she discovered that his tumor was huge and attached all over his liver, making it impossible to remove.

I had to decide right there, what to do.  Do I have him stitched back up and returned to me, to live out the remainder of his life, no doubt under duress - he was not eating - just for my sake to get used to his dying?  Or do I let the vet euthanize him so that he won't have to suffer for my sake?  I've always been cognizant that I should never benefit at the suffering at another - chalk it up to growing up Buddhist.  I took some time to think it over, and then decided to have him brought out of surgery temporarily, so that I can say goodbye to him and hold him as the vet injected him with drugs to put him permanently to sleep.

It was the most difficult thing to do, to hold onto your pet as he's being euthanized.

But I can never forget that look as he looked back at me, headed into surgery.  I've carried that load of guilt, that we never got to exchange some sort of ritualistic remembrance of the good times we'd had together, and having a chance to say goodbye before being euthanized.  And all that guilt comes flooding back whenever I see pictures from his last days with me, including up to his being put to sleep.

In order to ritualize my sadness, I ended up creating a video of still images and recorded videos over the years, and created a logo for it.  Still, even after saying goodbye, it still hurts to remember that last day in his life.