An ancient legend, to be found internationally, tells of a heroic dog brutally destroyed by his master, who mistakenly believes the animal to have killed his human child. In the medieval French version this dog was called ‘Sainte Guinefort’ and sometimes known as ‘the holy greyhound’. In the best-known English version, a ballad by William Robert Spencer set in Wales and dating from 1800, he is named Gelert. This concluding chapter concentrates upon Spencer’s account, together with a mid-nineteenth-century version by Richard Hengist Horne, and it reads the basic story as an example of animal tragedy, with the faithful dog as a martyr to human failing and to a fatal yet endemic lack of communication between species. That sacrificial image, which seems to be especially associated with greyhounds, has persisted and can still be found, for instance, in John Hampson’s under-estimated novel, Saturday Night at the Greyhound (1931). Yet the gulf can sometimes be breached, as in Michael Morpurgo’s inspirational young adult book Born to Run (2007), about a retired racer who brings hope to a series of owners, as well as in Lucy Dillon’s A Hundred Pieces of Me (2014) and Michael Ondaatje’s wartime thriller Warlight (2018), in which greyhounds serve as a living consolation following deep trauma.