There are some things you never really imagine having to write about, and this is one of them.
Luna wasn’t just our dog. She was my soul dog. She was a rescue who came into my life after an unsettled beginning, learned what it meant to feel safe and loved, and became such a huge part of our family that it is difficult to put into words what losing her has meant. She was also, in so many ways, the dog behind Amy’s Pet Supplies. Without Luna, I’m not sure this business would even exist.
So perhaps it feels right that I share this part of her story too. Not because I think there is one correct way to say goodbye to a pet, and certainly not because I can tell anybody else when the right time is, but because when you love an animal, one of the hardest questions you may ever have to answer is: how do you know when it’s time to let them go?
For Luna, there wasn’t one dramatic moment. There were lots of little changes that had slowly started adding up. She was an elderly dog. She had stopped eating proper meals, she had collapsed while out on a walk and she was slowing down more and more. But strangely, those weren’t the things that made the decision clear to me.
It was her tail.
Luna had always been incredibly bonded to me. After so many years together, I knew her inside out. I knew her looks, her moods, her quirks and exactly what that tail usually did when she saw me. Then one day, it stopped wagging. Even for me.
That was the change that hit me hardest. She would look at me and I can only describe it as feeling as though she was saying, “I’m done, Mum.”
Of course dogs can’t tell us those words, but when you have shared your life with an animal for years, you learn to read one another in ways that don’t always require language. I knew my girl, and I knew she was tired.
I also knew that taking Luna through lots of veterinary visits and invasive investigations would have been incredibly difficult for her. The only place I had ever seen her become genuinely quite aggressive was at the vets, and underneath that aggression was fear. The thought of her final moments being spent muzzled and frightened, on a metal table surrounded by unfamiliar smells, broke my heart.
Luna had already had an unsettled beginning to her life. I couldn’t change what had happened before she came to us, but I could make sure her ending was calm, familiar and surrounded by love.
That was when I found Forget Me Not Farewells, a mobile veterinary service offering peaceful euthanasia in familiar surroundings. Katharine was female too, which was an added reassurance because Luna had always been more wary of men.
For us, being able to choose where Luna said goodbye changed everything.
One of her favourite places had become my partner’s land. It was somewhere she had been able to experience true freedom, wandering, sniffing and simply being a dog. It was also somewhere she had spent so much happy time with her mate Diesel. There is a big tree there with a treehouse, and underneath it is somewhere we have often sat and had family picnics. It felt completely like Luna’s place.
So that was where we decided she would spend her final moments, and where she would stay afterwards.
Once the decision had been made, as heartbreaking as it was, it gave us something incredibly valuable: the chance to say goodbye properly. Family and friends could see her. We could spoil her. We could make her last days about Luna rather than waiting for a crisis to choose the day for us.
Luna’s last day
On Wednesday 10th December 2025, I tried to keep the morning at home as normal as possible. There were lots of cuddles and lots of love.
Ella knew what was happening and, understandably, she was devastated. She left for school incredibly tearful, but so, so brave. She wasn’t ready to watch Luna take her final breaths, and that was completely okay. As her mum, I didn’t want to put Ella through something she wasn’t ready for simply because somebody might think she should be there. She had said her goodbye in her own way, and that was hers.
I then got ready for the day, and there was one tiny decision I made very deliberately. I chose my perfume.
I own plenty of perfumes, but I put on the one I have worn for years. The one Luna knew. I wanted one of the last things she could smell as she drifted off to be familiar. Me. Home. Not disinfectant or a clinical veterinary smell. Just something she had known for years.
I took Luna over to the field early with my friend Steph, who Luna had always absolutely adored. Luna managed what she could of one final, very slow walk. There was no rushing and no expectation, just Luna going at Luna speed, with plenty of treats along the way.
By then, almost the only thing we could reliably convince her to eat was Paddock Farm pâté, so naturally I had brought an entire one. If there was ever a day when portion control could get in the bin, this was it. I also wanted Katharine to be able to use it to make friends with Luna before doing anything else.
When Katharine arrived she was calm, kind and professional. She had a bag with her that looked a little like a tool bag, and Luna had always been nervous of bags like that. I asked if she could put it away and she did immediately. Such a small thing, but it helped Luna relax, and on that day every small thing mattered.
At around 1.30pm on Wednesday 10th December 2025, it was time.
Luna was on her own bed, with picnic blankets underneath the big tree where we had spent so many ordinary, happy family days. It was a cold winter afternoon, but the sun shone.
Her passing was peaceful.
I won’t pretend there was anything easy about it. My heart was completely broken. I was losing my soul dog, my companion and the dog who had been beside me through such a huge chapter of my life. The dog behind this business.
But alongside that enormous grief there was also calm, because I knew it was right for her.
Afterwards, my partner laid Luna to rest in her favourite spot. She was buried with some of her favourite toys and a note from Ella. Even now, knowing she is there brings me comfort. She is somewhere she loved, somewhere we still go, and somewhere I can picture her running around with Diesel, completely free.
Was it the right time?
Since losing Luna, a few people have questioned whether it really was the right time. I understand why people ask, because it is one of the hardest decisions any pet owner can make and there is rarely a neat, obvious moment where somebody hands you a sign saying, “Today is the day.”
But Luna was elderly. A vet could have investigated, medicated and perhaps bought us more time, but no vet could turn back time and make her young again.
For me, the question had stopped being, “Can we keep her here longer?” and become, “What would that extra time actually feel like for Luna?”
For some animals, investigations and treatment can give them more wonderful, comfortable time with their family, and that is absolutely the right choice for them. For Luna, I knew how frightened she became at the vets, I knew how she would have coped with repeated appointments and invasive treatment, and I knew what her days were beginning to look like.
During her final week there had even been a day when I checked the cameras while I was at work and realised she hadn’t moved for hours. The doorbell had gone and still nothing. This was Luna we were talking about, a dog who could normally have a fairly strong opinion about somebody daring to approach her front door.
I flew home. Partly because I was frightened for Luna, but also because I couldn’t bear the thought of Ella coming home from school and finding her extremely poorly, or discovering that she had passed away alone.
That moment stayed with me.
I didn’t want Luna’s life to end as an emergency. I didn’t want her final day chosen for us by a crisis. Knowing the day meant that the people who loved her could say goodbye, that she could be spoilt, and that her last moments could happen somewhere she felt completely safe.
For my dog, I would rather have made that decision a week too early than risk being a day too late.
That does not mean it is the answer for every dog. It was the answer for Luna.
If you are facing this decision yourself, speak openly with your vet about quality of life as well as treatment options. Look at the whole animal in front of you and the things that make them them. Sometimes the change that tells you the most is something only you would notice, like a tail that no longer wags.
A peaceful goodbye
I am incredibly grateful that we had the option of saying goodbye to Luna somewhere she loved rather than in a veterinary surgery. Forget Me Not Farewells is based in our area in Essex, but if you live elsewhere, it is worth looking for vets who offer home or familiar-place euthanasia near you. Services like this exist in many areas.
Where it is possible and appropriate for your pet, I would highly recommend exploring the option of a peaceful goodbye at home or somewhere familiar. For Luna, it meant no frightening waiting room, no metal table and no final moments dominated by fear. Instead there was her bed, our voices, the smell of people she loved, pâté, sunshine and her favourite tree.
Luna has left an enormous hole in our family. There are still moments when I expect her to be there, photographs I can’t look at without crying, and memories that hurt and make me smile at exactly the same time.
But mostly, when I think about where she is now, in that favourite spot beneath a tree she knew so well, I feel incredibly lucky.
Lucky that a rescue dog with such an unsettled beginning trusted me enough to become my soul dog. Lucky that Ella grew up with her. Lucky for every walk, every picnic, every ridiculous Luna moment and every bit of fur she managed to deposit somewhere it had absolutely no business being.
And lucky that, when she needed me to make the hardest decision I had ever made for her, I was able to listen.
Luna taught me so much about dogs, behaviour, trust, patience, rescue animals and what it means to really know the animal standing in front of you. Ultimately, she changed the direction of my entire life. Without Luna, Amy’s Pet Supplies wouldn’t be what it is. In truth, it might not exist at all.
So although I’m sitting here crying while I write this, I also know Luna’s story didn’t simply stop underneath that tree. A little bit of her is woven into everything I do here.
And Luna won’t be the only much-loved pet we remember.
We have a memorial window here at Amy’s Pet Supplies for the pets who have left paw prints, hoof prints and all sorts of little footprints on our lives. If you have lost a much-loved pet and would like them remembered alongside Luna, you are very welcome to send us a photograph and we will add them to our memorial window.
Because they may leave our homes, but they never really leave our stories.
Sleep well, Luna.
There would never have been enough time. But there was love. There was freedom. There was Diesel. There were picnics under the tree. There was an obscene amount of pâté.
And, right at the very end, there was peace.
Exactly where you belonged.
Amy
-x-
