When do I know when?

[u/EggplantNo1992]

Everyone always says “when he’s ready, you’ll know.” And I’ve always said, I’ll never keep him here to spare me the pain. But as we grow closer, I feel like the lines are so blurred. Royce (13 y/o Boston Terrier) was diagnosed with a chemodectoma in April 2025. We decided to go the no-treatment route and I honestly do not regret it. He’s a trooper and a borderline miracle dog at this point, I know. Over the past few months, my sweet boy has been slowing down tremendously. We battled IVDD which has been really well managed by a cocktail of medication and bowel issues that have been relieved with his new food. The past few days he has had multiple spells where he collapses (not losing consciousness) and urinates on himself. His wheezing labored breathing has also gotten worse. He still eats like a lil piggy and has his moments where he seems truly happy and “fine.” But I can see the defeat and exhaustion on his face. I feel like I’m in a weird in between place right now where we are just waiting for his heart to give out. I know that will be so horrific for me to experience but (hopefully) quick for him. I don’t want to give up on him too soon, but I also don’t want him to go in a traumatic and painful way. Has anyone been in the same boat with a chemodectoma and if so, how did you “know?” I can’t imagine saying goodbye when he still has moments of being his usual self. We aren’t in the diaper wearing, no eating, accidents all the time stage yet. But I also don’t think that’s how it will end for us. I’m preemptively grieving and maybe grieving too soon. It just doesn’t feel like there will ever be a right time. Any thoughts or guidance is so appreciated.

[u/Happy-Chart-8880]

This is one of those questions where many answers may be right or not apply. We knew when he woke up at 1030pm and he couldn’t walk. We had been thinking this for a while because there were other issues health-wise that no vet, no amount of money could fix, that was time. Bob was 19, he was losing his vision, his hearing and he had dementia. That night in the way to the vet I knew he might not be coming home with us. At 230am, I was standing in an empty parking lot crying and yelling at the heavens, “This isn’t fair!” and begging Bob not to hate me.

The best way I can describe it is, my heart says one thing but my mind says something different. It was his time, he wasn’t Bob anymore his quality of live was nonexistent and keeping him around was fair to him. We had to stop being selfish and let him go home peacefully, not in pain and with us there telling him how much we loved him. I told stories about how he ran through the screen door, not once but twice because he wanted to bark at the horses, or how clever he was when he stole my coffee then pretended it wasn’t him with the smell of Starbucks on his breath. How brave he was to “make” the goats run away and how it was his birthday 3 weeks in a row so the nice lady at the treat shop would give him a treats for being 5 for about 3 weeks in a row. Every time we stopped by she’d say, “Is it your birthday again Bob.?” We talked about our first day together, oh and the famous coach fall that he promised never to tell anyone about.
We held his paw and kissed him bye and we told him thank you for loving us.

Shit, now I’m crying again.