This week, my wife and I had to take out 17-year old dog, Misty, to the vet where we reached the painful decision to have her euthanized. She had been in failing health for the last two months, but we kept hoping that she would go peacefully in her sleep one night. Unfortunately, it rarely works that way. We gently petted her as the drugs were administered and she closed her eyes forever. It was a tough day, with a lot of tears and an overwhelming sense of loss.

Nearly all the people I know that are 50+ Baby Boomers have a pet or two. They are the surrogate children of empty nesters and those who never had children. Or in many cases, our pets grew up with our kids and remain a legacy after the latter have departed for college, jobs or marriage.

The thing about dogs and cats (we have both) is that they give us unconditional love. No matter how bad our day, or how many regrets we have, they are there to lick our hand or purr in our laps. Pets live in the "now," are always happy to see us and rejoice in the simple aspects of life. They sooth our pain and help us through our fears. We become better people because of their love.

Boomers everywhere are forced to face our own approaching mortality when a pet's accelerated life ultimately brings us to a vet's office, carrying this precious family member on their last journey. One day, it will be our turn. We can already see it on the horizon.

There is a lot to be said for euthanasia. We lovingly bestow this gift on our pets rather than watching them suffer to the end. Yet, with a few exceptions, society denies individuals the right to make the same choice for themselves. Even though our quality of life may have deteriorated to a point that we are a burden to relatives, consume assets that those we leave behind need, and overwhelm our country's medical system, we do not have the basic right to end our own lives.

How much better it would be to have a freedom of choice. When my time comes, I would like to have a gathering on the beach to enjoy one last time with my friends and family, smoke a last cigar, and then pop a pill into a cold glass of chablis. As I sail into the great beyond, I know Misty will be there to greet me with a goofy smile on her doggie face.