I was warm and comfortable on the stuffed couch watching the New England Patriots wallop the Chicago Bears. The snow fell fast enough that heavily clothed men on small tractors had to plow off the lines between quarters. The weather was the same in Toledo and I was happy to be indoors.

Corey had other ideas. He whined and wiggled his skinny frame and nudged me with his long wet nose. He was past due for his afternoon walk and had no concerns about the weather. For a dog, he communicates his desires quite well.

And he is not just any dog. He is an adopted retired racing greyhound – the only type of dog that leaves the ground completely when running. In his prime he could sprint 503 meters in about 31 seconds.

The greyhound is also the only dog mentioned in the Bible. There were no little ankle-biter dogs in the Bible. And he is not just any greyhound. He lost a leg to bone cancer.

Technically the leg is not lost. I know where it went. I paid a veterinary surgeon a handsome sum to remove it. Wouldn’t it be great if all our patients forked over the plastic card before treatment? In that universe, everyone would bathe and be completely compliant with our advice also.

Many think I am crazy for having Corey undergo the amputation. Most object to spending the money on a dead dog walking. Time will tell, I guess.

He has more days to live than one might think. Between the amputation and the five free rounds of chemo he got at Ohio State (a perk for retired racers), he’ll probably live another year or two. He has tolerated all his treatment quite well, and Corey (ICU Coroner was his racing name) isn’t counting his days anyhow.

The decision to have the leg removed was difficult. Not so much because of the cost, but the desire to avert further suffering. I considered what his thoughts might be on the subject and decided that Corey would want to endure temporary discomfort in order to keep living.

When I saw him and his stump for the first time, I thought about what went through his dog brain when he realized the four legs he entered with were now down to a prime number. “What the heck? I know there were two legs back there when I walked into this place!”

While convalescing at home he enjoyed loads of attention and high-protein meals. He spent much of his days reclining on his bed dreaming of chasing rabbits (he actually moves his legs and woofs when he dreams). I imagine that in his dreams he still has four legs. Several times I questioned my decision when I saw him struggle to get to his feet. That was hard to watch.

About 2 weeks after his surgery, he was gaining weight and seemed to be very comfortable. We started taking short walks. Each day his steadiness and stamina improved as passing drivers did double-takes. The day I saw him run through the meadow in front of our house I knew I had made the right decision. That was beautiful to watch.

He ran effortlessly, not caring about his limb deficiency, oblivious to the cancer lurking in the shadows. This dog lives to go for runs in the meadow, read his pee-mail, and reply as many times as possible along the way.

He does not mourn the loss of his leg. He lives for today and makes the most of every walk we take. He does not ponder when the last walk will come, and he does not complain that he can’t run fast enough to catch a squirrel anymore.

I wonder if I would be so accepting of my fate and so perseverant in my recovery. I’ll try not to complain about my squirrel-catching ability.

Be happy.

Dr. Baehren lives in Ottawa Hills, Ohio. He practices emergency medicine and is an assistant professor at the University of Toledo (Ohio) Medical Center. Your feedback is welcome at David.Baehren@utoledo.edu.