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Baxter was getting worse. He had been diagnosed with a debilitating and painful back problem common to most hounds - the joy of having long, heavy bodies and short legs. We both knew the time was coming to end his suffering. And, to end ours. He was fighting valiantly, but his pain was getting worse.

"How will I know when THAT day has come?" I asked my veterinarian.

"You are the only one who can answer that," she replied. She tugged gently at Baxter's ear. "You will know when it is time."

I decided that Baxter would tell me as I drove home. I didn't know how he would tell me that it was that time, but I knew he would find a way. He had a gift for communication and I was sure he would let his feelings be known. I just had to recognize his hints and signs.

Coping with the thought of euthanasia was started when I first found out about his medical condition. I knew I would do all I could to help him fight. We went to all sorts of specialists. We tried medications, herbal remedies, and even vitamins. Baxter took painful injections directly into his spine daily to get his pain under control. As his pain became more manageable, those injections were reduced. My financial resources dwindled. I even sold my back-up car and dipped into my retirement fund to keep him pain-free.

How was Baxter going to tell me it was time? I watched him closely, waiting for him to let me know. We spent as much time together as possible. Thankfully, I worked from home so he wasn't alone during the day. We took car rides together and walks. I was slowly preparing myself for the inevitable. In the back of my mind, I was constantly wondering when and how Baxter would let me know his pain was too great and it was time for me to "help" him for the last time.

He walked slower, but his tail was constantly wagging when we went for our walks. Baxter's appetite was just as it had always been.; I had to keep an eye him because he would eat anything he could reach. He would even forget to use the ramps I had set up to help him get on our bed and up the steps of the front porch. Baxter's eyes would light up when I would get his leash or get his treats out of the pantry. I watched as he chased birds out of his backyard. Baxter was not giving me any clues it was getting close to his time for me to help him. Time marched on; I waited and kept loving him and caring for him.

Baxter had always taken his medicine so well. He never balked or complained. I didn't even have to "ball" his pills in a treat. I would hold

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