“She’s gone,” said the vet, shortly after delivering the dose that set Kayla free from the ailments ravaging her old body.

“No more pain, sweetheart,” I whispered into her ear. “You’re such a good girl. Thank you.”

I always knew this day would come. As a pet owner, there’s the painful and inexorable reality that at some point in time, you may have to make a difficult decision to put an animal down.

Last Friday, 16-and-a-half years after Kayla, the Australian Cattle cross, entered my life, it was time to let her go.

The decision wasn’t easy, but it was the right one.

After surpassing the typical life expectancy for a canine, and living a healthy, happy life, Kayla really started to go down hill over the past few months.

It became harder to get up out of bed. Sometimes she would fall down and couldn’t get back up without assistance. Getting down the stairs was always a risky proposition. Getting up the stairs was impossible without assistance.

Most recently, she had been coughing up blood and tissue. She was losing control of her functions, and struggled with arthritis.

While I knew our time together was coming to a quick end, I remained in deep denial over the past few weeks.

“You’ll rebound, Kayla, you always do,” I would tell her. “You’re the dog that wants to live forever.”

Not wanting to disappoint me, Kayla struggled through each day.

And it wasn’t until last week, when I laid down beside her and looked deep into her eyes, that I realized she wanted me to let her go.

“Kayla, I don’t want you to suffer anymore,” I told her. “You have been my dearest companion for so many years. You have forgiven me for my failings, and stood by my side through thick and thin. I can’t imagine life without you, but I want you to know that I am OK if you want to go.”

As we prepared for the final trip to the vet, I gently lifted her old body up out of bed, wrapped her in her favourite blanket, and put her into the back of my car. She didn’t flinch.

I cried all the way to the vet clinic, and through the tears I kept looking back in the rear view mirror hoping to see any sign of anxiety.

I wanted a reason to change my mind, but I knew this difficult decision was the compassionate thing to do.

I carried her into the examination room and at no point did she struggle or wiggle with fear. I placed her on the table, and looked into her eyes again.

“I am going to take the pain away.” I could see she was at peace. Even

as the catheter was placed in her paw, she didn’t move. She just kept her loving eyes focused on me.

When the injection was administered, it took about 20 seconds for her heart to stop. I spent some final moments with Kayla, stroking her face, and closing her eyelids. She looked so peaceful.

As I sat there, saying goodbye for the final time, my mind wandered back to September 1993, when I picked her from a farm litter, handed over $25 and brought her home.

While I was sad that she was gone, the tears streaking down my face were filled with memories of so many great times together.

She was entertaining, mischievous, gentle, loyal, patient and determined.

She loved turkey, any type of treat and old socks tied into a ball.

Kayla just wanted to be friends with everyone, even those darn squirrels she would chase in her younger days.

We travelled many miles together, and aside from a few trips out of country, she was always with me, providing me with companionship in both good times and bad.

I am fortunate to have had such an extended time with Kayla. I love her very deeply, and believe she lived as long as she did because I never let anything change how important she was to my life.

I don’t know whether dogs go to heaven. But where ever Kayla is now, I hope there’s lots of fresh green grass, an endless forest of trees to sniff, and bonies as far as the eye can see.