What’s the hardest decision you’ve ever had to make? Why?
Hard decisions come in all shapes. Some are true crossroads. Others pull good commitments in opposite directions. And some don’t feel like decisions at all—they’re simply heavy because of love.
Eight years ago we rehomed a border collie named Dakota. Gentle, chocolate tri-colour, quiet as a shadow. But every rehomed dog carries a story in their bones. Dakota had been neglected—sleeping on bare concrete aggravated her hip dysplasia. She’d been attacked by another dog, so her social skills were anxious and hesitant. She longed to connect but didn’t quite know how. Most of her teeth were gone because she’d chewed rocks out of boredom.
Students at the college adored her. She would come to the office with me, curl up on her bed, and people would wander down just to sit with her because they missed their own dogs back home.
When she developed aggressive mammary cancer, we tried everything. Two surgeries. Experimental chemotherapy. I remember sitting with my wife at Dakota’s favourite beach when she asked whether we should keep going. She was weighing the cost, the odds, the reality.
For me, it wasn’t a decision.
“Whatever it takes,” I said. “We have a responsibility to look after her.”
My wife looked at her and smiled. “You’re a lucky dog.”
After the surgeries Dakota surprised us. She had a burst of energy—a second puppyhood. The most playful we ever saw her. We knew it wouldn’t last, which made every day feel like borrowed time.
A few months later she couldn’t stand. We knew what that meant. And again, it wasn’t really a decision. It was the final act of care we owed her.
We stayed with her until the end. She looked at each of us, long and steady, as if she understood. And then she slipped away quietly, knowing she wasn’t alone.
The hardest decisions are often like that—decisions already made by love long before the moment arrives.
The Afterword 
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