The Last Good Day: Food and Love Top End-of-Life Bucket List

Pay attention to what they’re telling you about how they’d enjoy spending their final days. photo: AdobeStock

As a euthanasia vet, when I sit with a family at the end of an animal’s life, I usually start by asking them to tell me a story.

Not the medical story. By then I usually know about the kidney disease, the cancer, the arthritic hips that finally gave out. I want to hear about their animal companion before all of that. Who were they? What did they love? What made everyone laugh?

That’s often when the mood in the room changes.

I hear about the dog who lived for the beach and seemed to know they were getting close to the ocean long before anyone could see it. The cat who appeared the second the refrigerator door opened. The dog who spent 15 years trying to steal food off the table - and was apparently pretty successful at it.

People laugh when they tell me these stories, sometimes surprised that they’re laughing. I’m not. Grief and laughter can share a room.

Those conversations have changed how I think about saying goodbye. We spend a lot of time asking, when is it time? But there’s another question worth asking sooner: what would make today a good day?

Their list, not ours. The answers are usually already there in the stories families tell me.

He loved riding in the car. She loved lying in that patch of sun on the kitchen floor. He could spend forever with his nose down, investigating a single block. She always slept right there, pressed against my leg. That’s the bucket list.

It doesn’t have to be grand. An old dog doesn’t need to walk the whole beach one last time. Carry them down to the sand or sit together somewhere they can smell the ocean. If they can no longer make their usual walk around the block, put them in a wagon and take them anyway. Let them smell the neighborhood and see the familiar places. Sometimes recognition is enough: I know this place. I love this place.

Pay attention to what they’re telling you, too. The beach may have been their favorite place for 12 years, but today they may prefer their bed. This is their list, not ours.

And, naturally, there’s food. At nearly every deathbed I’ve sat beside, someone tells me a food story—the cheese thief, the In-N-Out Burger fanatic, the dog who could hear an ice cream spoon from another room, the cat who spent a lifetime making a convincing case that she hadn’t been fed in days.

So yes, food belongs on the list. Chicken. Cheese. Ice cream. Maybe French fries. Maybe that forbidden favorite they spent years hoping someone would drop on the floor.

But let them decide. I’ve watched families lovingly prepare a beautiful last meal, only to have their animal turn away. That isn’t a failure; appetite often fades near the end of life. Sometimes one lick of ice cream is the whole feast, and that’s enough.

Bring in their people, too. An animal’s family is often much bigger than the people who live in the house. There are the kids who grew up alongside them, the neighbor they greeted every morning, the groomer who cared for them for years, the dog walker who knew all their habits, or the friend whose car pulling into the driveway could still get that tail going. And don’t forget their animal buddies.

If your animal still enjoys company, bring some of those people around while there’s time. Tell the story about the stolen sandwich, the destroyed couch cushion, the great backyard escape. Laugh. Cry if you need to. Let people say hello, and say thank you.

But watch your animal. If they’ve had enough, let everyone go home. They get the final vote.

And don’t forget the ordinary. Families show me photographs all the time - puppy pictures, beach trips, Christmas mornings. But I’ve come to believe the things people miss most are much more ordinary: the gray muzzle, the crooked ear, those paws, the way they always curled up in one corner of the couch or snuggled in bed.

Take those pictures too. Record the sounds - the bark, the purr, the ridiculous snore that used to keep you awake. Someday you may be very glad you did.

Sometimes doing nothing is the best day. There can be a temptation to fill the last days with everything - one more beach trip, one more car ride, one more visit from everyone who ever loved them. But a bucket list shouldn’t become another obligation.

Some of the most peaceful last days I’ve witnessed were remarkably uneventful. A familiar bed. Sun coming through a window. A hand resting on their fur. Nowhere they needed to go. Just being together.

Start sooner than you think. If there’s one thing my work as a veterinary death doula has taught me, it’s not to save everything for the day of euthanasia. When you sense that time is growing short, think about what your animal still loves, and do some of those things while they can still enjoy them. There may be one last good day. If you’re fortunate, there may be several.

Much of my work involves helping families recognize when suffering has begun to outweigh the things an animal still enjoys. But I also ask them to notice what remains. Can they still find that patch of sun? Do they still know your voice? Do they want that bite of steak?

Your animal doesn’t know you’ve made a bucket list. They only know that the sun feels warm, the In-N-Out burger tastes good, your hand is resting on them - and you’re there.

The final chapter of a life doesn’t have to be only about dying. There can still be living in it.