Hello, Erin – You have a difficult choice ahead of you. Obviously, you care very much about your beloved Taylor, but unfortunately, that horrible cancer was hiding when you had his front leg amputated. Don’t for a moment think that you’ve caused the cancer’s return.

When my dog Gretchen had her front leg amputated, the vets at the U-MN Vet Hospital told me there was no way of predicting an outcome. Back in 1999, the odds were definitely against us, but Gretchen’s oncologist told me that the bell curve favored her due to the rapidly multiplying cells being more sensitive to chemo. Once a certain span of time passes, your odds go up considerably. In your case, Taylor was on the side of the bell curve that no one wants to be. The cough that has developed will only serve to make his last days that much more uncomfortable. Only you, his loving owner, will know that difficult day where there is no hope anymore.

For us, it was the (probable) return of cancer to Gretchen’s body, manifesting itself within her spine. Even x-rays gave us no proof-positive. We could only speculate. For a week, I manually extracted waste from Gretchen. We laid her sideways on a grassy incline and allowed her to pee downhill. It was a lesson in humility. It also pained me to see my dog lose her dignity and almost seem to dread being carried out so she could be helped to eliminate. Because her back legs eventually gave out entirely, she was agitated when I left the room, and would bark to get me to return. It was no quality of life for any of us. At that moment, I knew I’d have to put her down, even though her mind was clear, but her failing body was finished.

Personally, I was finished too. I didn’t want my dog to suffer this degrading situation anymore. At times, she’d whimper when I picked her up (believe me, 70 pounds was difficult for me to lift comfortably), and she had NEVER once cried out – even after amputation. I knew she was in misery, and it seemed only fair to end her life on a somewhat positive note. I got up that fateful morning, made her bacon and eggs, and gave her a dish of milk to lap up. I fed her Frosty Paws frozen treats every hour, and I took many photographs, while I played ball with her by rolling it to her and having her nudge it back my way. I spent every moment with her that day until the vet showed up at 5 pm.

We were out in the yard, and the sun was shining. She was flopped partway in my lap while my husband and daughter stroked her in the sunlight. Our vet started an IV, and we talked a bit before we told her we were ready. When Gretchen totally relaxed, we said it was time, and the end was quick, but totally peaceful. It was okay, and about the best it could have been under the trying circumstances.

Our Gretchen meant the world to us, and there will never be a dog like her, but we decided that remembering her by allowing another dog or two to enter our lives would only be appropriate. Taylor will live on in your memories, but I would hesitate to allow any obvious suffering to continue at great length. I doubt you’d want to remember those last days with a feeling that you’d allowed a bad situation to continue too long. You will need to make the choice, and I trust that you’ll know when is the right time. My heart goes out to you. I know exactly how you feel...it doesn’t matter that we got two years and you only got a few months. The pain is the same in either case. My prayers go out to you, Taylor, and your family. – Stephanie

Erin, I am so sorry to hear about your situation. Though my baby, Timber, had a situation more similar to Gretchen’s since her cancer came back in her spine, I think this might help.

Timber was diagnosed last July when she broke her leg where the cancer had thinned it. We had to amputate and opted for chemo too. She did all the things she used to do before amputation. Then this January I noticed her walking like she was sore and chalked it up to the cold and her just wearing out form only having 3 legs. Then I noticed her tail was not wagging the next day so I decided to take her to the vet in the morning. When we woke, she had lost most of her motor function in her hind legs. She was hopping with her hind legs kind of limp and crossed. I knew this was going to be the point of no return. I knew we lost the battle. I took her to the vet and they confirmed it was in her lower spine. There was no getting better. I knew not being able to walk, no matter how much love I could give her, would make her quality of life too poor to make her go on. I wanted to take her home and love her until she passed naturally but that would have just been cruel to her since she would not understand why she couldn’t walk. I knew that to do what was best for her was to end her fight. I wished so hard that she would just pass quietly and painlessly in her sleep too. She was still sharp with her mind and spirit, she tried so hard to keep walking, but her body was just done. I understand where you are at on this. It is so hard to let go when their mind and personality is still there. (Timber even fought the euthanasia, her veins, through no fault of the vet, kept bursting with the injections because of the way the chemo and constant blood tests had taken a toll on her veins. If you do chose this option make sure there is an unused vein. All 3 of Timber’s legs had been poked so much through her treatments and there were no good veins on them. I don't want to scare you , just make you aware)

It still makes me cry (even right now) and I still sit by her grave in the back yard, but I know I gave her 10 good years and did everything possible to save her and make her life good. That does offer some comfort, but I still miss her. I did adopt 2 dogs a week after her death, not to replace her, but to honor her. I think rescuing an abused or street dog or even one from the pound is a good way to honor your dog after they are gone. Timber was found wandering the street when she was a puppy so I found another dog and saved him from wandering the streets unloved. I also got another dog from the pound that had been brought back 2 times to the pound and is the same breed mix as she was to honor her memory. This helps knowing that her passing allowed two other dogs a have a great life like she got.

I'm still angry that I did not get the 14 years I was suposed to with her, but knowing that the 10 years we got were good quality is comforting. Also you have to realize that you gave Taylor 5 good months more than most people would have, so he was lucky to have a parent like you! You have done all you can for him.

It is really tough, the toughest thing I have had to do, but you will just know when it is time to let go. I do take comfort in knowing that I did not let her suffer any. Seeing her suffer would have been worse for us then putting her to sleep and not letting her suffer.

Hi Erin thanks for sharing Taylor and your story. I understand many of the emotions that you are dealing with. It is so hard when a loved one's health becomes difficult. From your story it is clear how much you love Taylor and how much you have tried to help him through the difficult diagnosis of OS.

I am not one to give up trying to help a loved one eak out even a little extra good life. I have lost my father and brother to cancer and have had to put down a number of dogs. I went crazy in each of these cases trying everything I could come up with in my power to try and give each of them even one more good day. But in each case there came a point where it was clear that there was really nothing more to do. While that is a sad moment, it also brought a sense of peace. Being able to help our beloved dogs out of their pain and frustration when the time was right was in the end is a wonderful thing.

Our harlequin Dane, Moose was in the lucky and unfortunately small percentage of dogs that survive OS past 2 years. Moose's zest for fun and living life to the fullest has been a wonderful lesson that I am trying to learn from. Unfortunately, within days of his two year mark from diagnosis, he developed neurological problems (never figured out the for sure cause) that combined with being a tripawd, made it so he could not walk We did not give up and together we fought it for 3 good months. He did improve to the point where he could get around pretty well. In the end my partner Ross and I held Moose when he could no longer fight as the vet helped him escape his pain and frustration. As I said, while one of the saddest moments of my life, also an immediate sense of peace and harmony.

After our experience with Moose, I believe that when we work so hard to help our dogs with OS, and especially when we make the decision to amputate we take on an extra responsibility without realizing it. I think once we amputated, without realizing it I took special responsibility for Moose being comfortable. It makes letting go even harder I think. Tomorrow it will be 5 months since Moose left us and I miss him more than ever. But over the past 5 months I am able to focus more on the wonderful relationship we had with Moose. Moose brought so much love and fun to our house, it makes me feel good inside just telling you about it. I know that Talor must have given you some wonderful times and great lessons to think and feel good about.

Give Taylor a hug and kiss from us. You will know the correct path, it will be clear. You have gained so much from Taylor and you will forever have the wonderful memories of all the great times together.

Peace to you and Taylor,

Joel, Ross, and Angel Moose
Moose's website: http://members......ove2baliv/

Thank you all for your support.  Everyone tells me that I'll know when it's time.  I don't know that I will.  When dogs have leg/back/hip problems, it's a very objective way to measure their pain when they can't stand up or walk.  I don't know how to measure his quality of life as far as lungs are concerned.  I don't think with him it will come down to something obvious. We know he's already in a bit of pain, though we can't tell where,which we're medicating him for. I want him to be out of misery before he gets truly horrible , but I also don't want to deprive him of his good days.  He gives us mixed signals He doesn't like getting up and moving most of the time, but when he sees a squirrel in the yard he can run with the best of them.  He coughs horribly sometimes, but then he'll go outside and bark and breathe just fine. He still eats fine. His polar opposite behavior confuses me.