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Thanks guys. You can tell I'm still in the 'anger' stage of my grief.

I just got Henry's ashes in the mail yesterday. Losing any dog is devastating, but when we've fought so hard to keep our cancer dogs alive and healthy... it just seems so unfair.

A message to all of Henry's friends, near and afar: Many of you have followed the story of a shy, red brindle greyhound who entered my life in April 2010. His name, Henry. As a first-time dog owner, I confess that there was nothing particularly special about Henry the first day I met him. I wanted a dog so badly, that within days of closing on my first house, I brought one home. Neither Henry nor I had a clue as to what we were doing. In those beginning stages, having a dog was much harder than I ever anticipated. Accidents in the house, "statuing" on walks, epsiodes of space aggression, and many discussions with my then-boyfriend, Sterling, asking ourselves "can we actually do this?" and "should we give this dog back?" Never having been a person who could admit failure, I spent months, perhaps years, trying to convince Henry (and myself) that I could make it work. Henry was a hard sell, but over time, we became a dynamic team. Together, we completed eight different obedience classes, gained therapy-dog status, took vacations, and went on adventures. Henry started to have seizures, then had an accident that caused him to lose half of his tail. He always bounced back. We joked that he acquired more scars in retirement than he ever did on the racetrack. Years went by, and we gave Henry the ultimate Christmas present (or so I thought)- a four-month-old puppy named Truman, of whom Henry would eventually be charged with babysitting, disciplining, and general governance. As time went by, Henry accepted every challenge I placed in front of him, and exceeded them all, always with composure and grace. On a cold, snowy Pennsylvania day in late November, three years into our time together, we were faced with our most difficult challenge yet- the big C. After a week of limping, we learned that Henry, only five-years-old at the time, had developed cancer in a back leg. The only way to spare his life was to dive head-first into a treatment plan that included chemotherapy and a gruesome amputation. Sterling and I were heartbroken, but we were still determined to give Henry the best possible chance in the fight. We handed our boy over to a team of doctors and surgeons, and five days later, they gave him back to us- this time fractured and aesthetically less-than-whole, but with the same gentle spirit and an incredible desire to survive. Over the next two weeks, we set up a "hospital suite" in our living room for Henry to recover. He combatted brusing, infection, and phantom pains that would make him randomly cry out. It was during this time that I spent many sleepless nights, lying next to Henry on the floor and wondering if we'd done the right thing. With a heavy heart, we trekked him back and forth to chemo appointments- Henry sometimes weak and too sick to eat, or shaved and bruised from endless needle sticks and a plummeting white cell count. Weeks into his rehabilitation, we got a call from the oncologist, relaying a joyful message that Henry's cancer was not technically, not pathologically, the evil osteosarcoma that we had all presumed it to be. It was instead a fibrosarcoma, a lesser type that would be easier to manage and less likely to return. To say he simply "recovered" from cancer would be an insult to his memory. Henry adapted to his "three leggedness" in ways that left people speechless. He touched so many lives, everywhere we went. Strangers stopped us on the street, pulled over in their cars, just to interact with Henry. When I put aside my occasional annoyance over not being able to walk down my block without a constant barrage of sideways glances and questions, I had so much pride for my boy. And I confess, secretly, this was my favorite part of being Henry's mom. Just as we had gotten comfortable believing Henry beat the beast and would live a normal, cancer-free life, he suddenly started to seem "off." Over a week's time, he was more reluctant to use the stairs, whining more than usual, refusing meals, and having accidents in the house. We took him to the emergency vet twice over the weekend. The first time, the e-vets couldn’t immediately find an issue and suspected soft tissue injury, possibly a small fracture. We continued pressing for more tests, as Henry was rapidly getting worse. After getting an x-ray of his chest, the mystery was solved. He had a large tumor in his chest cavity, revealing that the cancer that took his leg was back in full swing. A preliminary test showed very aggressive, malignant cells, likely hemangiosarcoma. No more treatments, no more options. After coming home from the e-vet, Henry continued to decline through the night. Even with double the amount of Tramadol, he was crying out in pain and could barely stand in the morning. All three of his remaining legs was swollen. The tumor in his chest was drawing fluid, which then began to pool into his legs. I know this is a prosaic thing to say, but he had “the look" in his eyes. It was desperate, pleading. His eyes were also runny a lot over these past two days, maybe some weird post-effect of the cancer or the pain. They looked bloodshot and wet, like he was crying. It absolutely broke my heart to see him that way. Sterling and I talked about our options. We could’ve fed him cheeseburgers, and carried him outside to the bathroom, and continued force-feeding him pain pills to get through a few more days. But the battle was clearly over. He was not going to get better, only worse. I couldn’t bear to see my strong, independent Henry in such a state of defeat. Without hesitation or regret, we called a mobile vet who came and put Henry to sleep at home, on the "big bed," and in the company of his family. Before the vet got here, he enjoyed a huge steak from Texas Roadhouse. We laid with him and stroked his ears. We told him we loved him and would miss him, and that I did my best, and I know that he did his too. As he started to slip out of consciousness, I whispered over and over he was a good boy- an incredible understatement, because he was the best boy. Henry lived for one year, ten months, and five days following his first cancer diagnosis. The vast majority of that time was pain-free and completely on his own terms. It kills me to know that the tumor in his chest had been rapidly growing for months. But in spite of that, Henry pushed through romps at the dog pool, adventures in hiking, road trips, and endless play sessions with Truman (his puppy) and many other greyhound friends. We were lucky to have been to many GIGs, Grapehounds, and Deweys. Henry was with me when I delivered my Master's thesis, and in Niagara Falls, when dad asked mom, "Will you marry me?" Through everything, he hid his pain well. The end was fast compared to the many beautiful memories we have together. As much as I'd like to believe that I "rescued" Henry, I realize now that our relationship was at best symbiotic- many times unequal in respect to his role. Having experienced periods of deep anxiety and depression, I continued getting out of bed in the morning, sometimes with the only motivation of putting food in the dogs' bowls. Because of Henry, I was able to start my own martingale business, become a self-proclaimed quasi-authority on greyhound health and behavior, travel to Spain to join the galgo crusade, and above all, connect with "greyhound people" who would later become lifelong friends. I was able to gain patience and perspective, as I poured my heart into being Henry's mom- something that proved bigger than I would've ever believed possible. Rest in peace, my beloved Henry. Until we meet again.

Henry started to decline through the night and became very swollen and painful. He could hardly stand. I can't really explain it, but there was something about seemed so defeated. He was ready to go. We called the visiting vet and said goodbye earlier today. When I'm able, I will write a proper tribute to Henry. I do want to say thank you to everyone who sent words of kindness and support. There are no words to explain our sadness and heartbreak.

Well, we're home. The aspirate of his chest mass confirmed what we already knew- malignant cancer. They did some tests in-house and said it was VERY bad. Not a fibrosarcoma like last time, some really ugly, terrible metastatic cancer that resembles hemangiosarcoma. Took some more rads of the legs, and there were a few suspicious areas on both of them in addition to a few small nodules on his lungs. These all surfaced quickly and unexpectedly, as his lung rads from six months ago were pristine. The pragmatist in me is trying to line everything up so that we don't have to make any hasty decisions when the time comes... but obviously, my heart is broken in two. I am terrified, and I feel like it's just a matter of days now. We're hoping to still make Dewey on Wednesday so Henry can experience one last trip, a walk on the beach, and a final goodbye to everyone who loved him. But I'm honestly not sure if poor Henry will make it that long. He is snuggled up in our bed right now with a belly full of McDonalds hamburgers. I promised him that I would stop crying, and that we would enjoy our time left. I told him I was sorry, that I did my best, and I know he did his. We just ran out of spare legs this time. Thank you to everyone for their well-wishes. I haven't had the chance to respond to everyone, but I appreciate all of your comments and PMs.

Trying to put my thoughts together here... We've come to the end of the line, I'm afraid. We're getting a biopsy of the mass, but there's really nothing else that can be done that's curative. We're going to take our boy home and enjoy however long we have left until it's time to say goodbye. Days, weeks, maybe. I will get in touch with a visiting vet so we can have him put to sleep at home. I had a gut feeling this was coming... still never gets easier to accept, though. ;(

Huge mass in his chest. Heartbroken.

More rads now, then joint taps if we don't immediately see anything. Bridget Urie is here, but she's with oncology patients. I'm hoping she can get a few moments to consult with the attending.

Yeah, me too. I insisted on a 4D on Thursday. Everything was negative there.

Chris, he's got his favorite blanket.

Quick update. We're at the e-vet with Hen. The radiologist looked at these rads from Thursday night. I started getting a bit worried looking at that left wrist, where it looks a bit more shadow-y in comparison to the other one. The doc didn't seem worried about that, more about the line that could either be a artifact or a greenstick fracture. The weird thing is that his other leg is very swollen today. I'm not sure if it's because he's trying to limp on the left, and is trying to put all his weight on the right, causing it to be swollen... or if the injury is actually on that leg and we're just missing something. We're going to get some more x-rays and if necessary, an ultrasound. He's definitely decompensating for some reason. Just gotta figure out why.

Going in this morning for more rads. Kudzu, that's about what they said when they called me back. Could be an artifact. Gotta go find out.

This past week, we've started having some issues with Henry. Among these: -Gradually become more reluctant to use the stairs -More slipping and sliding on the hardwood floors -Waking up in the middle of the night and panting/whining -Refusing occasional meals -Began having accidents in the house I took him to the emergency/specialty vet in Pittsburgh. The attending vet who evaluated him did not see any obvious issues, suggested soft tissue injury (we did have Django, another greyhound houseguest for over a week, and Henry might've overdone it), and that we should follow up with pain meds and crate-rest. Then, the next day another surgeon called back after reviewing Henry's films again. He was concerned about a possible fracture on the left front leg. If not that, then a calcification of prior injury that is bothering him now. I'm giving Rimadyl and Tramadol, but he still has some symptoms of pain. Still not wanting to put weight on that left front leg, and waking up in the middle of the night pant-y and whine-y. Flat out refusing to use stairs now. Are you guys seeing anything here? FYI, I already sent them off to Dr. Couto. So far, they do not believe it's cancer-related. No osteolytic lesions. Chest rads are still clear. Of course, I'm in a perpetual state of anxiety about the Big C coming back. At least until I hear back from Guillermo, would you guys mind taking a look? Thanks in advance from me and Henry.

Yes! Check out Halt! spray. The Postal Service has been using it since the 1960's as a non-lethal repellant for aggressive dogs. It's made with capsaicin, so it stings their eyes, but does not cause longterm damage. You can buy it on Amazon for about $8.

Ah, not quite my neck of the woods, but a Pennsylvanian nonetheless!

Out of curiosity, whereabouts are you from in PA? We're from the Pittsburgh area.

True dat. My dogs are alive but for the grace of God and Healthy Paws.

I'll try to get a video when I get home later, because this seems like a really long-winded explanation for something that's relatively simple... Take a really high value treat in your hand, put it at his eye/nose level, then bring it down slowly to the floor. If you're lucky, he'll understand immediately and lie down. Some will continue standing, but follow the treat down with their nose. If he does the latter, put the treat in your closed fist, and hold it there on the floor. If you have to, sit down on the floor yourself, treat in your fist, extended toward him. Just wait and give him some time to try and get it. He might nose your hand or paw at it. If he does that, ignore. Eventually, he should just give up and lie down on he's own. Once he's down, open your fist and reward! After doing it a few times, you can start pairing it with a word command, like "down." Then gradually, you can jackpot the treats and phase them out. Hope this makes sense!

The simple explanation is mental/stimulation overload. Very, very common with new greys, just takes some time and patience. If you search for "statuing" in the forums, you can find some more info on how to do it if she's freezing up on walks.

Jen, I really agree with this... I'm in the camp that believes that dogs who are never off-leashed are the ones who are more likely to run away. They see that one, rare opportunity and think, "HERE'S MY CHANCE, I'M FINALLY FREE!" Bottom line. If you've done the work, and the dog has the right personality and temperament, it's ultimately your dog and your decision. I do understand where the pushback is coming from. There are people on this forum who have seen tragic endings when dogs (as 3greytjoys stated, 1000+) go off-leash. But what you don't hear about are the thousands of times people have fun and successful off-leash adventures with their dogs. Could my boys get seriously hurt off-leash hiking? Sure. If I had a kid who wanted to play contact sports, could he get seriously hurt? Absolutely. We all take calculated risks when it comes to our dogs, our kids, with the reward being (what we perceive as) fuller and more meaningful experiences. Those are our decisions to make. Let me put it this way. After Henry had his amputation and chemo, over $15,000 in medical expenses, I wanted to put him in bubble wrap. If I had done that, he would've been miserable. In the years since, I've watched my three-legged, epileptic, scarred up, half-tailed dog run free on the beach, leap over logs, wade in creeks... memories I wouldn't trade for anything in the world. And yes, he gets hurt every once in a while. Scratches or scrapes or bruises or bites from stray cats, whatever. We deal with it. He also gets hurt in our own backyard. I don't think that means I'm a careless owner or a poor protector. Nor do I think anyone is doing wrong by their dog for not letting them off-leash. It's a personal decision. When we accept that and start offering positive, proactive advice, then we'll have an off-leash thread that actually counts for something.

This idea is freaking brilliant. Let us know if you can find a way to make it work!

Oh, I hope it works out. Hound dogs are so fun/funny. As for the Lyme, I think a lot of it depends on how long they went untreated. If it was in the later stages, she may need to be on doxy for a long time, perhaps months. The meds can get pretty expensive. Also, I'm with Susan. There's definitely some beagle in the face. Those stumpy little legs look very basset-y, though. Does she have the out-turned walrus feet?

For explosive diarrhea, you may need to fast her for a day to let her gut settle down. Then, start with small meals of chicken/hamburger and rice, and gradually introduce the kibble back in. I'd nix the yogurt, as some greys are really intolerant of dairy. As the others have said, get thee to a vet for some meds to help alleviate the intestinal inflammation. Good luck, and keep us posted!

Oh my goodness, that tail. Both of my boys have had tail injuries and both have gotten partial tail amputations. It quickly became too hard for the tail to heal with it constantly whacking off things and the bandages falling off. The rest was cauterized with a laser, and it healed up in no time. Best of luck to you. If you have problems and that tissue gets necrotic, don't rule out an amp. ETA: Neither of my boys' tail injuries looked as bad as Uri's.