In this week’s issue, here’s what we are sniffing out

 Why this belief can keep dogs uncomfortable too long

The myth: “My dog will tell me when it’s time”

Those of you who are in the Grey Whiskers community - or who follow along on social - know we lost Uma last week.

Until pretty much the day she died, we didn’t see her “giving up.”

And that brings me to one of the biggest end-of-life myths I hear in senior dog circles:

“My dog will tell me when it’s time.”

Sometimes that’s true. But it’s not reliably true, and it can be a dangerous trap - one that allows a dog to spend more time uncomfortable than necessary while we wait for a sign that may never come.

When “it’s time” is obvious… and when it isn’t

In some situations, the need to say goodbye becomes clearer faster. A serious diagnosis, a poor prognosis, escalating symptom burden, and/or rapidly declining mobility can make the decision more urgent. There’s often a clear medical story, a clear trajectory, or a clear crisis.

But many old dogs aren’t living black and white stories. They’re living a slow fade of color; a confusing cluster of symptoms, or a dog who simply doesn’t show you the truth of what they’re feeling.

Yes, some dogs do “tell” you

Some dogs absolutely communicate it.

Dogs who are naturally grouchy, pain-sensitive, or emotionally “loud” can be very clear when they’ve had enough. They may become depressed, withdrawn, irritable, or flat-out done with the world.

The very first dog we ever put to sleep, Ally, was moody to the extreme her whole life. And she did tell us. She became increasingly anxious, depressed, and even more cranky in our last weeks together. The change was undeniable - like the light in the room dimmed. I always said her moods flipped like a light switch, and her spark leaving was no different.

But some dogs don’t say it so clearly

For other dogs, waiting for “the sign” means you’ll wait too long.

Because some dogs don’t communicate the end in a way we recognize. Or they communicate it so subtly that it doesn’t register until you’re looking back months later.

I think finding your way in these cases comes down to reading the context of your dog’s unique life.

Uma’s context: complicated, stoic, and always game

Let’s use Uma.

Over the course of her life, vets consistently told me two things:

1. Her medical issues were complicated, and

2. She never showed pain on exam.

Part of that was her fear at the vet clinic — the “white coat” stress response is real. But it wasn’t just that.

In Uma’s entire life, I rarely saw her show pain in a way most people would recognize. When she did things that had to hurt, she didn’t make a peep. She rarely limped unless things were really bad for her.

And this part matters: Uma never refused a walk. Even when we knew she was hurting and so skipped walks on her behalf, she would have gone anyway. She was always ready for anything: hiking, road trip, movie night, or sick day in bed. Didn’t matter - she was in.

So if we were waiting for the classic “end-of-life signals,” Uma just wasn’t going to cooperate.

Why some dogs don’t “tell you”

Here are a few reasons this myth falls apart, especially with older dogs:

1. Pain gets normalized. One of my favorite senior dog doctors just reminded me of this: dogs who live with chronic discomfort often adapt to it. Just like people do. Their baseline changes slowly, and their tolerance grows because it has to.

2. Some dogs are naturally stoic. Some breeds and personalities are just… tougher. Less dramatic. Less expressive.

3. Fear masks pain. A stressed dog at the vet isn’t behaving like themselves. That can hide symptoms and cloud the picture.

4. Some dogs are people-pleasers. They’ll rally because they’re patient, tolerant, and loving. They’ll keep going because that’s what they’ve always done. They’re happy-go-lucky and just not the complaining type.

5. Some dogs will eat even as the final injections are being prepared. Hear this: if your dog is still eating, it doesn’t mean they aren’t also at the end of life. For some dogs, the way to their hearts is through their tummies. That’s why it’s become so common to see people giving their dogs “last meals” right before euthanasia: steak, chocolate, Thanksgiving meals.

So what do you watch instead?

For dogs like Uma, you don’t wait for a dramatic declaration.

You become a detective.

And here’s the part I want to emphasize: the most important indicator of the end of life is often a combination of things, not just one thing, that change what normal is for your dog.

Remember what I said earlier: Uma rarely limped unless things were really bad.

That means if a dog like Uma starts limping even a little? That’s not “a little.” That’s a loud alarm - for that dog. Other things are also happening, I guarantee.

Subtle signs that often matter more than the big tells

Not every dog will show all of these, but these are some of the “soft tells” I watch for in stoic seniors:

• Taking longer to get comfortable, or changing sleeping spots repeatedly

• Less interest in things they usually never skip (even if they still participate when asked)

• Hesitating before stairs, jumping, or getting into the car

• Standing differently (weight shifted back, wide stance, hunched posture)

• Panting when it isn’t hot or after minimal activity

• Licking paws/joints, or suddenly being touchy about a body part

• Subtle withdrawal: still in the room, but less engaged

• “Tight face” (less soft eyes, furrowed brow, tense mouth)

• Needing more help with normal life (getting up, getting traction, getting outside in time)

None of these alone looks like “I’m ready to die.”

But when your dog is showing more than one of the above changes, AND when combined with other factors, the signs can emerge as: “I’m not comfortable living like this anymore.”

A practical exercise to help with clarity

If you’re in the gray zone (or you can see it coming), do this when you’re calm - not in a crisis:

Make a list of:

1. Things your dog genuinely enjoys (not just tolerates)

2. Things your dog can still do comfortably

3. Things that are hard, scary, and painful now

Update it weekly. This does two things:

• It keeps you from getting used to a slow decline without realizing it.

• It gives you something more objective to hold onto when your emotions are too loud and chaotic for clarity.

Because when people say “my dog will tell me,” what they often mean is:

“I don’t want to make the call too early.”

That’s a valid fear.

But the answer isn’t waiting for a neon sign. The answer is watching for drift - and treating a buildup of subtle changes seriously, especially in dogs who don’t complain.

If you’re in this season right now

If this topic is hitting you in the gut, you’re not alone. This is one of the hardest parts of loving senior dogs: they can be brave, and joyful, and present… and still be declining in ways the outside world doesn’t see.

If your dog is more “Uma” than “Ally” — stoic, willing, always game — please don’t build your plan around the idea that they’ll clearly announce the end.

Build your plan around their baseline, their patterns, and the quiet changes that tell the real story.

And if you need help interpreting those changes, this is exactly where your trusted veterinarian or a hospice veterinarian is your lifeline.

UMA “FURMAN” - 2011-2026

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