Cherishing Henry: A Love Story in Pawprints

I am the mother of three furbabies — and the “grandmother” of one — and each of them has carved out their own place in our little family. Henry, my 11‑year‑old Beagle, is the leader of the pack. He has the sweetest soul, the gentlest eyes, and an appetite that knows no limits. Then there’s Daisy, my 9‑year‑old Cavapoo who was supposed to be a lap dog but instead became the assertive boss babe of the household. Kevin, my 5‑year‑old Frenchton, is my shadow and unapologetic momma’s boy. And finally, the grand‑furbaby: Phoebe, a 4‑year‑old pit‑boxer mix who was rescued and now looks at my daughter like she hung the moon. She has no idea how strong she is — physically or emotionally.

To us, these aren’t “just dogs.” They are family. They rule the roost, and honestly, we wouldn’t have it any other way. Some people think it’s too much, but I’ve always loved having a dog around… and then that dog needed a friend… and then it snowballed into this joyful, chaotic, loving pack. Each one is adored. Each one is their own little character.

A few weeks ago, I noticed a couple of small lumps on Henry and thought he might be losing a bit of weight. My daughter, who used to work at a vet clinic, took him in for a check‑up when she came home for Christmas break. The lumps turned out to be harmless — but the weight loss wasn’t. An ultrasound revealed a large mass, later diagnosed as carcinoma, taking up more than 75% of his liver.

The news was devastating.

And yet… Henry is still Henry. He’s still gobbling down food, now with the help of high‑calorie prescription meals. He’s still happy, tail wagging, running the baseboards for crumbs, howling at squirrels, soaking up sunbeams, and curling up with us on the couch. But I know — we all know — that this won’t last forever. The time is coming, and coming quickly, when his body won’t let him be the dog he’s always been. I dread the day I lose him, whether he passes naturally or I have to make that heart-breaking decision for him.

In preparation, my daughter made salt‑dough so we could make pawprints of all the pups. I reached out to a photographer, Danielle Sloan, https://daniellesloanphoto.com who graciously squeezed us in for a fur‑family photo session. She did an amazing job and was so wonderful to work with. I’m so grateful we did the photo shoot....those images are keepers that I will treasure always. Even thinking about the limited time I have left with Henry brings me to tears.

I will miss him more than I can put into words. I’ll miss his stubborn refusal to come inside at 2 a.m. because he’s convinced something is lurking in the woods. I’ll miss his howl, his sweet head tilt, his big brown eyeliner eyes, and the way he somehow smells like Fall all the time. He was supposed to grow old with me. He was supposed to keep leading his little pack, who I know will wonder where their leader went.

So, for now, I’m cherishing every moment. He can have all the extra treats he wants. He can nap on the bed. He can “hunt” bunnies til his heart’s content. Whatever brings him joy, he gets.

Dogs are wonderful little souls who simply don’t live long enough. But Henry — and Daisy, Kevin, and Phoebe — have enriched my life in ways I’ll never be able to repay. I hope they’ve always felt loved, safe, and happy. Because they are, and they always will be.