Jo’s Journey: A Chapter We Were Not Ready To Write
our Crazy
Irish Setter
On June 24th, we celebrated Jo’s 12th birthday. True to her Irish Setter spirit, she has always been lively, stubborn, and a little bossy — barking to make her opinions heard and keeping us on our toes. Over the years, she’s been a constant presence in our family’s life, growing alongside our girls as their first big dog, their third sister, and their constant companion.
Lately, though, we’ve watched her slow down.
At first, I thought it was her old diagnosis — hip dysplasia in her left side — combined with age and arthritis catching up to her. I told Jo she had to make it to 15, but as the weeks went on, I started to see changes in her. Her breathing shifted, her mobility declined, and as a veterinarian, I knew it was time to dig deeper.
After coming back from vacation, I scheduled her lab work and x-rays. My goal was to reassess her hips and get a clearer picture of what was causing her discomfort. Emily, one of our amazing CVTs, was there to help. But as the x-rays came up, my heart sank. Her left knee was swollen, and the images confirmed what I feared: bone cancer.
Osteosarcoma
It’s a word I’ve said to clients countless times, but nothing prepares you to hear it for your own dog. The radiologist confirmed that this is a highly aggressive cancer, and osteosarcoma is the top differential. Other possibilities include a less aggressive bone cancer or, less likely, a fungal infection. Given that the disease is isolated to one location, fungal infection is lower on the list.
Osteosarcoma is an aggressive, painful cancer. Amputation is usually the best way to relieve pain, but Jo’s body is complicated — her right hip already has severe dysplasia. Surgery isn’t the right option for her.
So here I am — both the vet who knows the medical facts and the mom who doesn’t want to let go.
I’m angry at myself for not catching it sooner, though I know life has a way of distracting us, even when we know better. And I’m heartbroken that the time I wanted with her — the years I asked her for — won’t be ours.
I don’t know when we’ll have to say goodbye, and my girls are learning the painful reality of anticipatory grief. It’s a roller coaster — good days and bad days, moments of laughter mixed with tears. We don’t want to let go too soon, but we also don’t want to wait too long.
As a veterinarian, I’ve walked this path with countless families.
I’ve always tried to support, never judge. I truly believe it is our responsibility to help owners navigate these impossible choices — we understand the body, we recognize the signs of pain. And yet, when it’s your own dog, the knowledge doesn’t make the heart hurt any less. The thought of this cancer slowly eating away at Jo’s bone feels excruciating. I find myself wondering — is her breathing just her body, or is it pain? There are no metastases in her lungs yet, but still, she cannot speak to tell me what she feels.
So instead, I lean on quality-of-life checklists, using them to bring objectivity into moments when emotions want to take over. They remind me of what she loves, what still brings her joy, and help guide me to know when it’s time to let go.
In the meantime, we are determined to fill her days with joy. Jo has given us 12 incredible years — the stubborn setter who drove me crazy and, at the same time, the dog who helped my girls grow up, loved them fiercely, and kept them company through every season of childhood.
The girls have created a bucket list just for her:
Pup Cups at Starbucks, car rides just because, trips to Grandma and Papa’s, ice cream dates, slow walks, maybe even a farewell party. And every night, we blow up the air mattress and camp out together so she never sleeps alone. We even had a photoshoot for Jo — a special thanks to the incredible Karen Jackson from Purely Whimsical Moments, who responded so quickly to capture Jo’s celebration of life photos.
Now comes the hardest part
Weighing her good days against the bad, celebrating her every moment, and making sure she never suffers needlessly. If we wait too long, the cancer will weaken her bone until it breaks — something I cannot let happen.
This much I know: death is not the end. Jo’s pawprints are forever etched into our hearts and our home. We will celebrate her, love her, and carry her with us for all of our days.
