Ramona and I owe a lot to Dr. Ruth, DVM. You’ll see why.

Over the past decade, Ramona and I have hosted several hundred guests at our ranch pavilion. Nearly all remember Thor, our 140-pound, wholly loveable, livestock guard dog. He was an affection sponge. Folks ranging from Camp Brave Heart kids to federal judges and law professors were entranced by his gentle countenance.

Alas, unless your companion animal is a whale or an elephant, his life expectancy is less than yours. We recently had to confront this.

Big dogs don’t live long. Thor was 12 when we agonizingly determined that his quality of life had declined to the point that we felt compelled to end his life. Thanks to the help, kindness, and competence of Dr. Ruth, we did. And we all cried.

Rapidly, Thor was going downhill. The evening before, he was in pain, could hardly walk, and was nearly deaf. That morning, he didn’t respond to Ramona’s usual offer to walk our spring creek; it was clearly time to say good-bye.

We coached him to the pavilion. There he lay down, head on Ramona’s lap and -- can you believe it -- smiled. Yes, Thor often smiled. Ruth shaved a spot just above his right paw, found a vein, and injected him. In 35 seconds he closed his eyes. After a minute, his heart stopped.

With our backhoe, I had dug a deep grave just southwest of the pavilion. Wrapping Thor in a flowered shroud, we lowered him in and covered him with a few feet of soil. Cashman Nursery delivered a flowering crab apple tree, which we planted over his body. He will nourish the tree. It will remind us of his good life and the pleasure he brought to us and others. Thor’s death couldn’t have been better.

I am fully confident we took the proper and respectful action with Thor, even though it would have been easier to ignore the signs of decline, discomfort, and a lingering death.

That afternoon, Ramona spoke with a physician friend who said, “Wouldn’t it be nice if we could all go like that.” It sure would -- but we can’t guarantee such a fine, respectful, and loving exit.

While Thor had no relatives with a stake in his death, most people have family with both interest and responsibilities in their life’s end. Few people in the Western world have a good exit strategy.

Medically, spiritually, and personally, what is best for the dying individual? Family argues with family, family disagrees with doctor, technology conflicts with the dying person’s wishes, colliding emotions abound. Selfish family interests may complicate matters more. And don’t forget legalities.

As a grad student, one of my intellectual heroes was Marion J. Levy, Jr., of Princeton. While chairing a lecture committee, I invited him to give a set of lectures on social change. Marion began one talk with this pronouncement: “Barring some individual calamity, everyone in this room will live to be senile. This is a very recent phenomenon and we don’t know how to deal with it.”

Yes, vaccinations have eradicated polio and we can drink most water straight from the tap. “Individual calamities,” however, affect us by the millions. Nearly a quarter of American adults are now obese. Cancers and heart disease are killing off loads of us before senility chews our minds away.

For those of us who’ve avoided these deaths from excess, life-prolonging technology can keep us alive far longer than it used to. But should it? Should we use this technology to keep us alive, declining and uncomfortable, at all costs?

Combine this technological progress with the demographic transformation of First World nations, where reproduction is now below the replacement rate of 2.1 children per woman. The baby boomers are moving through time like the pig in the python, and there is a paucity of caregivers behind them.

In an ideal world, we’ll find solutions to this intractable problem, analogous to that we delivered to Thor. Realistically, however, I separate hopes and expectations. Life-end practices will evolve in response to demographic and technological changes; for now, our living wills and DNRs are the best we’ve got. Thor, in some ways, I envy your passing.