I feel glad that I got to say goodbye to Roy the way I did. He could have lived longer if I could have been home all day, but I needed to work and so chose to have him put down at home.

I got Roy in 2010 when he was 3 years old and immediately went to hospital because I was so overwhelmed by the decision I’d made. He was an ex-racing greyhound, retired due to “muscle soreness”. He spent a lot of time at my parents, and with friends and housemates over the years while I spent time in hospital. This became less and less of a pattern, and eventually he was spending time with others because I was going on holidays instead of to hospital.

Lucy meets Roy for the first time and takes him home.

He was my ever-present company through the depths of sickness and loss to the mind-numbing spaces in learning to survive and the stressful adjustments of taking risks in search of forward momentum.

Roy was company for the hours of tv watched on my laptop all day and night when that was my soul purpose and anchor, he was my sensory soother and weighted heart when I didn’t realise it. And he was also the source of so many panic attacks including the time I spent three days in panic mode and was thinking and talking about killing us both because of how deeply unbearable the experience was. I have never spent that long in crisis flight/fight mode, it was horrendous.

A familiar pose, Roy and Lucy snuggled on Lucy’s bed.

Together, we lived in 7 houses with more than 17 housemates. When he turned 9, I thought “right, he’s old and I need to prepare for his death because it could be any time now”, and it became an obsession.

After a while that waned, and he continued living like a normal dog and I realised maybe I was getting ahead of myself.

As he got older though, I realised that I wouldn’t survive without a dog, and that when he passed, it was actually going to be dangerous for me and I needed to think ahead.

In early 2023 through the stars aligning – in a way I don’t believe in – I got Digby the standard poodle, who was 4 months old when I took him home.

Roy was not overly impressed, but as long as he continued to receive the cuddles and attention he enjoyed, he was ok.

Roy got salmonella poisoning in 2019 and lost so much weight and muscle mass, that he couldn’t hold himself up when I washed him. He had spent 6 days at Lort Smith in isolation. I don’t think he ever got back to his pre-salmonella state in terms of body health.

His back legs weakened and continued to be a problem, slowly worsening over time.

When I moved to Carnegie, Roy didn’t handle it well, and my work schedule plus the new environment was it. He spent all day barking, and I was informed by my neighbours, both dog lovers and not, that his bark didn’t sound normal, it was stressed and frantic. Digby was coming to work or at daycare due to therapy dog training and too much energy, and Roy didn’t cope when he attended the daycare, not drinking or urinating or eating. He couldn’t get on beds or couches, was often in pain despite medication, and he slept more and more.

I cried for a long time. I made frantic phone calls seeking advice and permission and reassurance.

The in between phase of introducing euthanasia to the table and making the decision to go through with it was excruciating. I felt huge amounts of guilt, but also couldn’t stand his suffering and pain and lethargy and confusion. I don’t think anyone who makes the decision to put their pet down doesn’t experience guilt. It’s deeply uncomfortable.

When I made the decision though, the lightness of having a plan arrived, and we spent his last few days earth side doing the smallest and quietest rituals he enjoyed. Good food and short walks, a lot of cuddles on the floor.

I called some friends and asked if they could be there on the day, and they answered swiftly and affirmatively.

The day arrived, we went for a short walk up and down the street in the morning, afterwards he barely left his bed except for snacks and a wee break.

There were lots of tears, so much sadness and love in the room. some of the people who had held an important relationship with Roy said goodbye to him in person and accompanied him with me. There were many more people who had special Roy relationships, particularly past housemates, he had a lot of deep connections.

When the vet arrived, Digby barked at her, he also tried to interfere with the medication.

The vet was sensitive and explained everything that would likely happen, she made sure we were aware and consenting. I held Roy while he passed, and I remember his last breath out so clearly. He was still after that, not frozen, but still, like the ultimate slowing down. His breathing had always been slow, and it was as though the slowing down just continued to stillness.

In true greyhound style, he looked like he was asleep, as greyhounds often sleep with their eyes open. He looked peaceful and I hugged him for a long time. Grieving, but also glad that he got to leave the earth while still experiencing joy for food and pats.

After the vet took him away, we spent time in the lounge room, talking and reminiscing and crying, at one point Digby sat at the open door, just watching. He hasn’t done that before, and hasn’t done it since, I don’t know what it meant but it felt like something.

I have always wanted to write something, but just don’t have the language to describe the importance of Roy, his impact on my life, his impact on other people’s lives. Language doesn’t come close to encompassing all that he was.

So, I didn’t write anything, but now time has passed, and I read Sarah’s wrap up and words felt easier, and this came out.

A beautiful photo of Roy, taken by Sarah Walker on his last day earth side.

Digby isn’t as cuddly as Roy, but he is much more communicative and present. Maybe a poodle thing? I miss the tactile connection I had with Roy so much, and I realised how essential he was to my wellbeing. A consistent grounding heart space.

He was the light and warmth I needed; he was magical.

Roy the greyhound

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