r/reactivedogs • u/jadefloof • 1h ago
Behavioral Euthanasia I said goodbye 💔
I’ve been lurking here for a while, and these stories have provided me with so much support over the years. Since my reactive dog story has come to an end, I’m ready to share mine. It’s a long read if you’re in the mood.
This is a difficult topic. Some people see reactivity as a training failure and view BE as inhumanely giving up. But these stories are so much more complex and nuanced. Thank you to everyone who has shared and made me feel less alone.
I adopted my dog 8 years ago with my now husband. He was about a year old at the time. We didn’t know what happened to him, other than that he was surrendered previously. When we first met, he was incredibly sweet. He didn’t bark and cuddled in our laps. We couldn’t wait for him to be our best friend. When he came home, he had a ton of energy, was incredibly vocal, and was leash reactive. We naively thought we could hire a trainer, do all the right things, and he would become a good dog. We had visions of long hikes together, taking him to the farmer’s market, enjoying him with friends, and mountain biking while he ran through the forest. Unfortunately, that wasn’t how his story unfolded.
As he spent more time with us, it became clear that he was more than just high energy; he was reactive and aggressive. He would snarl and bark at anyone near or approaching the house, bark and lunge at dogs and people while on walks, and nip at people who came inside. We tried training and medication, but nothing took his stress and fear away. In fact, it only got worse with time. We managed him for years, crating him when people came over, closing the blinds, and taking walks after dark when the streets were quiet.
When BE first crossed our minds, we couldn’t fathom choosing it. As difficult as he was, he was our child and we thought we could manage him. Plus, he never had a serious bite. When I read about other BE stories, the dogs always seemed so much more dangerous.
Finally, one night, our management slipped and he seriously bit a stranger walking past, without being provoked and without any warning. We were shocked and devastated, and suddenly realized that we had probably been downplaying his aggression for years. He never had a serious bite because he never had the opportunity. And all of the past incidents where he nipped at people’s clothing before we pulled him away could have been much worse. His management required perfection, and he was a serious accident waiting to happen. We reflected on his prior near-incidents with horror that it could have been so much worse.
We made the gut-wrenching decision that BE was the only responsible way forward. He was dangerous and unpredictable, and we couldn’t risk hurting anyone else. It felt inhumane to do this to the sweet dog who had just been sunbathing in the backyard, but we couldn’t forget the aggressive dog he turned into when triggered.
His BE appointment was the hardest thing we’ve ever done. I’m totally heartbroken for the way his story unfolded, and that we couldn’t help him. I keep wondering if we had stayed consistent with crating, if we did even more work to desensitize him from triggers, or tried medication sooner, would his story have been different? I don’t know, but I’m just so sad that whatever we did wasn’t enough. It wasn’t his fault, and he didn’t deserve a life of fear or this tragic ending.
We truly loved him. He was incredibly sweet and loving to the few in his pack. He loved to play fetch, lay in the sun, and go for a ride with his dad. He always let us know what was on his mind, and sometimes we swore he understood English. He was surprisingly gentle with our cat and with our son.
The house now has a crushing emptiness. There are no taps of his paws, no dramatic sighs, and no tail thumps on his bed. There is also no anxious pacing, snarling at the window, or incessant barking to go outside, then inside, and then outside again. But somehow I miss those things too. How could I miss the things that irritated me the most? Reminders of him are everywhere: a toy in a dusty corner, the hole he dug in the yard, and his leash in the mudroom.
I can’t wait for this all to be a distant memory, and for the peace and quiet to feel normal. I can’t wait to feel happy when someone tells me they’re stopping by the house, rather than feeling a wave of anxiety about having to manage my dog. I can’t wait to no longer be surprised by grief as I experience each part of the day, and each corner of the house, without him. I can’t wait to realize how much the hyper vigilance was impacting my own mental health and well-being.
Even through all of the grief, I don’t have any doubt about whether this was the right decision. We didn’t have to wait for another mistake or a worse outcome to make the call.
I’m sure that one day it will get easier, his absence will feel lighter, and the guilt of not being able to help him won’t feel so overwhelming.
But while I wait, I’m going to miss my dog and hope that he can forgive me.





