Fear of Suffering

I have been struck recently by the extreme fear of suffering we have for our animals when they are facing a life-threatening condition.
We want to do best by our animals, and want to make sure that we are not causing them excessive suffering, and that is honorable.
However, in my understanding of death, suffering can sometimes be a necessary part of the process of dying, that helps prepare the soul to split from the body. Skipping past this process because of our extreme fear of watching our animals suffer is not doing service to anyone.
Before I understood all of the things I do now about animal communication and spirituality, I was put in the position several times to euthanize animals before (I believe) they were ready. They all had life threatening conditions, that they were not going to recover from, and thus I allowed the vets to talk me into euthanasia.
I have suffered extreme guilt from these instances for years, because the feeling I have always had was that I literally stole these animals souls from their bodies, before they were really ready to part with their earthly form.
There is a huge difference between stealing a soul and aiding an animal in transitioning.
If I had these instances to do over again, I would allow my animals to pass in their own way and time, when they were fully prepared and ready. This doesn't mean that we couldn't assist with euthanasia, but I wouldn't force this on them, no matter my perception of their suffering.
The universe, working in the way it does, has given me the opportunity (of course) to "do over" these instances in the form of helping other animals.
In the past three days I have assisted two horses in crossing over. Both of them had fatal colics. The first horse was young (only) 6, and had been colcky for most of the day, and possibly the night before. When all treatment failed, the vet re-palpated to confirm that he had a displacement. The vet said: You have three options: Surgery, Time and more fluids (not likely to work), and euthanasia. When he said the third option the horse gave a low level whinney--a literal physical validation of what he wanted (He was in with his pasture-mate and for the rest of the day hadn't made a sound). He told me: "Why would I want surgery when I can just leave this body and get a new one? Why would I want to go through all of that?"
When the vet went to get the euthanasia injection, he took me over to specific spot in the corral and laid down, as if to say: "I'm ready." In spite of the difficulty for all of us in putting down a beautiful 6 year old horse with no other health problems, it was clearly the choice that he wanted for himself at that time.
The other horse, a 21 year old thoroughbred started colicking in the morning after acting normally for feeding time. Initially he seemed to be very mild, and seemed to think himself that he was going to be fine. However, after his symptoms getting worse after medication and over a two hour period we decided to call the vet. By the time the vet had arrived he had begun to act very painful, with huge stomach cramps, although never lying down. After every possible pain killer and tranquilizer, he was only acting worse, not at all tranquilized and still acting like he was in extreme pain. The vet said she thought our only option was euthanasia. (This all happened within a thirty minute time period). With the horse's owner breaking down over the pain he was in and the vet certain that there was no hope for recovery, the decision was made to euthanize him. However, being connected to the horse, I kept feeling "no, not yet! Just wait." The horse was in obvious pain, his back legs buckling with every step, and extreme stomach cramps racking his entire body; and his owner was sobbing, saying, just do it, I can't watch him suffer. But when the vet approached with the euthanasia I began breaking down, saying "Can't we just wait? He's not ready." Even with my logical mind knowing the horse was not going to recover, nothing in me could allow the vet to approach to euthanize the horse at this moment. For two agonizing moments we were all at a stand still, watching the horse "suffer," until he took two strides forward, his hind legs buckled and he fell to the ground. "Ok," I said, "Now is okay." And we were all in tears as the vet helped this horse cross over to the other side.
The horses have told me this week that I am the "gatekeeper" to the other side. No matter my arguments over this responsibility they have told me that they trust me: They know I won't allow them to suffer, but I also won't allow them to cross before their time.
Sometimes that time is just a matter of minutes while the soul prepares to leave the body and take its journey onward.
Who am I to rob them of this, just because of my fear of suffering?