I’m hoping to jump start this blog again. I’d like to say it’s been on life support, but that would mean it showed some signs of life in recent months. However since last fall, it has been a very eventful year. And while I have managed to throw a few things out, it has been very few.
But I digress. My hope is that by sharing this story, I can finally let it go and open myself up again. You see, I started telling this tale last November. But it was too difficult to write. So I jotted notes as they came to me and set them aside. I hoped to start the New Year with it sort of symbolically start anew, but even then it felt too soon. So I let it percolate more. But it kept sticking in my head, and in some ways holding me back. I felt it important to tell this tale, but never felt inspired, happy, willing, the proper timing or skilled enough to write it. And any other idea just felt empty and unimportant by comparison. So still I waited, and with it this forum has stagnated. Nevertheless time waits for no one. And despite my feelings it may be too soon, and I am heavily emotional as I write, the time feels write to tell this tale.
You see today marks one year since the passing of Logan, the golden retriever with a heart, and stomach that were bigger than his 90 pound frame. A dog loved from coast to coast. And a friend who taught me lessons I needed to learn without even knowing. Logan touched everyone he ever met, even those who did not care much for pets. He had a certain magical quality to him that you find in but a very few special furry friends, and when you find it, you can count yourself blessed. I did not realize, foolishly enough, just how blessed I was until after he was gone.
So I share now with you a bit of his life, his passing, his enduring spirit, what he meant to me and what I learned from this wonderful animal. This is for Logan, and more importantly for Kristen, because she knew just how special that gigantic orange galoot was from day one. And if not for her, I’d never have even known him.
It’s hard to summarize Logan in but a few short sentences, but I shall make an attempt even if I am not fit for the challenge. He was the ultimate people dog. I do not think there was anyone he met he did not like. Everyone, even if he met them for the first time, was greeted with his overflowing enthusiasm, which usually started with 90 pounds of joy charging right at you. And while he was as gentle as a cloud, seeing that entire dog coming at you could be scary. Not in an attack sort of scary, but more of a oh my goodness if he runs right into me that bulk is going to send me flying sort of way. And he did knock a few people back, myself included. He was just so happy to see anyone all the time, he could not help himself. This only endeared him further to people.
If he met you previously and he saw you again? Oh my, you might as well duck and cover. He’d charge hard, looking for that initial greeting, mouth pulled back in the biggest smile a naturally smiling dog like golden’s could possibly muster. Then he tore off, grabbed the nearest toy or his favorite Clifford toy, and ran back at you with his entire butt wagging, looking for that wonderful moment when you said hi Logan and pet his bobbing head. This moment would make his day. And often, it had the same effect on visitors.
He was like this with everyone, no matter if they would roll on the ground with him or just give him a polite pat on the head. Everyone was wonderful to him, and he wanted to give that wonderfulness right back.
As much as he loved everyone, his love of food was equally legendary. He adored food, and would do anything to get it. I could spend weeks relating stories of him and food. His stealing antics, like when he ate food right off of someone’s fork when they weren’t paying attention, or stealing a sandwich off the counter, or when he leaned across the coffee table to snatch fries off of my plate when I turned my back for 5 seconds. For a big, galooting dog who did not know the definition of subtle, when it came to food that boy was as quick and silent as a ninja.
Oh, yes a few of those antics got him in trouble, with a go lay down yelled, or even the occasional smack on the butt. However, he was never deterred. He’d just come right back, flash those big eyes at you and turn on the charm. And he overflowed with charm. And he expressed it in his actions, his moves and his face. For instance, I came home early one day, and caught him naughtily lying on the couch. I figured he had been, since I always found the orange evidence left behind from the shedding beast. But this time, I caught him red pawed, so to speak. Was he chagrined? Oh, a bit at first, but then he just trundled over to me, with a look that said, oh that oh I was just keeping it warm for you all the while grinning madly. Such the charmer that boy could be.
Unfortunately, being a golden he was prone to golden genetic issues and his nemesis turned out to be cancer. Kristen, luckily, is a veterinary technician, and the first time he had it, we caught it early. And we caught the second, third and fourth early for that matter. Each time proved to be frightening but he always pulled through triumphantly.
To show the amazing attributes of this special dog, two of the times he had cancer his recovery was a marvel. When he had a mass on his left front elbow, he needed a flap. For those who have never heard of this procedure, what they do is when they cut out the cancer they need to do a sort of skin graft. This is because with the cancer cut out there would not be enough skin to properly sew it closed. So they cut some skin from above on the shoulder and back, pull it down, twist it and sew it over the wound creating a sort of ball on the leg. Then the back is sewn up and it’s just a matter healing and fur growing back. Typically from what I’ve heard, this procedure usually results in some of the “ball” dying off, as the skin that has moved does not always survive. Not with Logan, it was 100% successful. He even became an example for new patients. When people came to the hospital and their dog had to go through a similar procedure, they’d show off Logan to show how successful the procedure can be. I do not think I need to mention he excelled in this public relations role.
The other one involved an amazing procedure where they cut a tumor out of his gums, and then froze the spot on the jawbone to make sure cancer did not get into his bones. Yup, once again 100% successful, even though it was the first time the procedure had been tried by the surgeon. That was our boy a marvel in all aspects. Mind you not being a veterinary professional myself, I’m sure I am explaining these procedures wrong in some way or missing some extremely pertinent detail. But my point is that Logan faced difficult situations with his usual joy and won.
But even the most amazing dogs cannot fight an opponent forever. And with Logan being a lover and not a fighter, this eventually was the case. Mercifully, all the cancer we had found was on the skin, and we were able to remove them successfully each time. But cancer can be persistent, and eventually it metastasized. Now, we did not give up, no. We did try other treatments. But we knew it would not be fair to such a good boy to keep subjecting his aging frame and heart to constant surgeries. So, we hoped for the best, tried less invasive methods and ignored the potential worst.
But eventually, the worst did come. One Saturday not long after our move I was out, and Kristen came home from work to find Logan a bloody mess. A mass on his right rear leg had burst and he was bleeding out. As she tried to bandage him, he bit her, something he’d never done before as far as I knew. I raced home when she called and together we got him settled and bandaged. With the initial scare over, the deeper fear set in. What did this mean? What would be next? He had other masses appearing, would more come? Would the cancer move internal?
That week we took him to see a specialist and we started trying a few more things. We kept him bandaged and hoped that the wound would heal. Hope rose a bit until the following Saturday, when after visiting a friend the mass broke open again on the ride home. This was particularly bad because he was already bandaged and just lying down.
That night on the front porch of the house we just moved into three weeks prior, we cleaned and bandaged him again through tears. As we cleaned up the bloody mess afterward, we broached the subject that perhaps his time had come. Ok, I broached it and Kristen cried even harder. I felt lower than I ever had. I felt as though I had killed him myself. I did not bring it up to upset her, or because I wanted rid of him. I was just trying to think of him and his comfort. I took it back, but she said no. It was time but so upsetting a reality to face. I understood. We set the day to be the following Tuesday, three days hence.
The following days were the shortest and longest of our lives together. We tried to soak in as much time as possible with him knowing it would all be over far too soon. It’s funny, because months previous when the cancer started getting more aggressive, we spoke of this happening in an abstract sort of way. I was convinced he would have at least until 2009 and maybe even a whole year more. I hate when I’m wrong, and I hated it even more this time.
The problem over those days was despite the bandage on his leg, he seemed normal. He was happy, he enjoyed dinner and begged for more and was clamoring for attention. We began to question if this was the right decision. Did he not still have quality of life? Were we doing this too soon? Doubt began to creep into our thoughts.
Odd sometimes how life directs you sometimes when you seem the most unsure. Logan started taking his time for meals. Usually, he’d plow you over to get to his dish, and have half the food eaten before you finished filling his bowl. Now, he had to be called. Bad sign number one. We went to bed one night, and he started walking up the steps, slipped, and slid down. I walked behind him to help him. As an older, big dog, he of course was developing arthritis and that was rearing his ugly head. Bad sign number two. A few years before, he started groaning when he lay down at night. At first it was funny, his grumpy groan we called it. Now it was more pronounced, and a sign of discomfort. Bad sign number three. Despite our selfish doubts, born of not wanting to let go and the pain it would cause, we felt this was right for him. He was too good, too active, too sweet and too independent to suffer through some of the indignities that would come with a worsening condition.
His last day was as beautiful as we could make it. We spent time with him in the morning, fawning and petting and loving. We took some last pictures of his big goofy mug. We then took him for a walk near our house. The walk in my mind symbolized his life and how his journey was coming to an end. When we started he was peppy and excited, full of energy and roaring to go. As we walked along through the woods, he rambled about, investigating everything and occasionally checking to see that we were there and with him as he went from one new adventure to the next. When finally it was time to head back, we walked up the hill together. Here he was slow, tired and spent but happy and content.
Then came the hard part, giving the last cheeseburgers. We always said when his time comes; he’s getting the good stuff. So I went and procured lunch for us and two cheeseburgers for Logan. One was for now, and one for the end. Of course, he wolfed the first one down wickedly fast. At least on his last day, he loved the food. Then, amidst our sadness, something strange happened. A turkey flew into our back yard. I saw it and called Kristen, and we watched this goofy bird struggle and finally figure out how to fly over the fence. We called him Logan 2. Then five minutes later, he came back with a friend, who we dubbed Logan 3. And like the original, we did not see them again after that day. But it really added to the surreal element to that moment in our lives.
Finally, the time came to go. To say we moved at the speed of a glacier would be appropriate. But eventually we did get moving, driving in silence with what was to come weighing heavy on our minds and hearts. When we arrived, we sat in the car for a bit, just thinking. Nothing really had to be said. We got out and stood outside, feeling the breeze on an overcast day. As other people came into the hospital, of course Logan took his usual role as greeter. This endearing quality did not make things easier.
But ahead we went, to this new hospital where I knew no one and Kristen only knew her coworkers for a few weeks. For people I was meeting for the first time under less than optimal conditions, they were very sweet and caring. And I appreciate all they did for us.
He was prepped for his moment, and we had a few moments remaining with the best dog. He was happy and friendly, joyous and generous. He was all he ever was, and more, and for that we were saddened and overjoyed. Finally, the moment came. The doctor came in, explained everything, and prepared. As he prepared to administer, I desperately wanted to scream stop, do not do this to my dog. But what good would that have done but make an unbearable moment even harder. So I held and petted, and Kristen petted and fed the cheeseburger. And then he was gone.
The room cleared out and it was just Kristen and I and our former big galoot. As we sobbed, we saw he still had mustard from the cheeseburger still on his face. Somehow, this seemed only fitting, that even in passing the boy had food slathered on his face. It brought a small smile. Time came to leave, but I did not want to leave him there alone. Kristen got someone to come and be with him until they took him away. And my last memory was of that big orange beast lying on the carpet, looking as he always did. Big, goofy and taking a nap. I still see it clearly today as though I were just there.
We staggered out through misty eyes, barely seeing what was in front of us. But, for the second time that day we hit another major surreal moment. We ran into a former coworker of Kristen’s, one she worked with in Los Angeles. We had only been in Pittsburgh, and our new home, for three weeks and here we were putting our dog down and running into an LA friend. So strange.
We stood outside staring at the sky, wondering where Logan was, what he was doing, and what we were going to do. Eventually, we settled down enough to be able to head for home, cradling his collar and leash along the way. The car felt empty and quiet during our drive, a feeling that would repeat itself often in the coming weeks. We remarked how good he was, how hard it will be without him. We joked a little bit about him, and what he’s doing now. I imagined that he’d already be slathered in bacon grease and being pet by multiple hands. It seemed like an appropriate image of him in heaven.
I felt for Kristen at this moment, because while it hurt for me, I only had 4 years with him. She had him since he was a puppy. He was there for every major event in her life for almost 12 years. That’s a crushing loss. But we did smile a bit, if only forced at times.
When we got home, the house was very quiet. We did not know what to do with ourselves. We were pretty much numb at that point. So we cleaned, and picked up. Then we did what you usually do after losing a pet, we bought a major appliance. Ok, we were planning on purchasing a dishwasher anyway. But we really needed to get out of the house, so now seemed like the perfect time. So, surreal item number three was our new kitchen helper.
That first day afterwards was very difficult for both of us. Far more difficult for me than I ever thought it would be. It did not help that I had nothing to do work wise, and was stuck in the house by myself and nothing but my active brain working overtime. I still owe a debt of gratitude to my friend Laura, who mercifully was home and magnificently allowed me to babble and bawl for over an hour, sympathetically listening all the while. But we both managed to slog through that first day post Logan despite feeling shell shocked. Each day since got a bit easier also. Sometimes, the days were more difficult, like when we put his things away. Sure, we hoped to use them at some point for a distant future furry friend, well at least some items no dog would ever get Clifford. But in the beginning they were too hard to look at, especially for Kristen. But the pain eventually subsided and turned into warm memories full of happiness, tail wagging and big, stinky slobbery kisses.
Its funny how you take so many little things for granted. Just the normal, every day things you do not think about until they are not there. I discovered that the next day. Kristen went to work, and I was at home, looking for work. But the house was very quiet and lonely. And I felt it hard. Especially when I saw his toy chest, without any toys moved. There was no water splashed out of his bowl all over the place. And no fresh dog hair on any furniture. The little things are what you miss the most.
I never thought I’d miss his stinky dog smell, but I found myself about a week after he moved on smelling his collar. It still smelled of him. I never thought I’d miss his incessant begging for food at dinner. And to be honest, it was annoying. He’d put that gigantic noggin right in your face. Predictably, I’d yell at him to go lay down. He would for a bit, and then sneak back. It was difficult those first few days eating dinner in peace. I would have given almost anything for him to be there salivating. Plus, his constant need for attention was gone. It felt strange not having him slamming into you every few minutes looking to be petted or loved in some way. It took a long time before the overwhelming need to have him hound me went away. Sometimes, it still comes back.
And there were other things as well. Him pulling me down the steps, almost killing us both just to go outside for the bathroom. That followed rapidly by him dragging me down the block for a shot at perhaps getting petted by another person. Those big expressive eyes that just gazed at you full of love and caring. Those gigantic paws that could smack you upside the head in overzealous joy if you were not careful. And even the tumbleweeds of orange fur that would roll across the kitchen floor. All those little things, you never notice them until they’re gone.
For some reason I always tried, at least outwardly, to keep a distance with Logan. I would say that he is my wife’s dog, he’s her boy. I had the cat, she had him. I would crack wise that when he went, I would have to put her down too as she would be a mess. Well, in the 10 days leading up to his passing, and ever since he has not felt like her dog. He felt and still feels like my dog. I know that is preposterous, since she did raise him from a puppy. But it didn’t, and still doesn’t, feel like just her loss.
And in those first few days afterward, I do not know who was the bigger mess, her or I. I think we took turns, to be quite honest. And if you had to judge during that time who to put down, I believe we both would have qualified.
I found as the days went by afterward, and the pain subsided that it did not take much to recall every moment of that day with incredible clarity. Sometimes it was something so innocuous that would bring on every emotion with the stunning sharpness of a knife point. I was watching a show one day while job hunting and a character said the word catheter. Just hearing that word made me think of Logan’s last catheter. Suddenly I found myself in the bathroom grabbing tissues and sobbing uncontrollably.
A few months later I made the mistake of reading
Marley and Me in anticipation of the movie since I knew Kristen would want to see it. The book was enjoyable, but very painful. I basically cried through the last few chapters. In each of those chapters you could have replaced the name Marley with Logan, and it would have been almost exactly the same.
I said it often then, and still say it now. I miss our big dumb dog.
In the proceeding weeks and months after Logan left, I thought of all he gave to me. And that made me think all he taught me. Yes, the dog I always accused of being the dumbest dog ever taught me a great many things, many of them about myself.
The first thing was obvious and painful. He was never, despite my comments, a bad dog. No, I was the bad master, owner and human. Now, I do not mean I beat him or starved him or some other horrible thing. No, I just never opened myself up to him as fully as I could, or should. He always did for me and sometimes I did too, but not always. For that I still feel bad.
But he taught me other things too, on top of the importance of being open and honest with your feelings. He taught me unconditional love, patience, letting the little things go and perhaps most importantly giving yourself completely to those you love. I think if we all followed that one, we’d find we would get back so much more than we give.
I felt strongly at the time he left that I had to make some serious changes in my life. I wanted to go on and live, not just for me but him as well. I felt deeply it was important to be a better me, to take these lessons he so freely and easily and do better. I felt it important to show Logan I really did care and loved him so by doing right by his memory. To make it up to him in some small way for all the opportunities wasted when he was here. And to say I’m sorry for not giving him all the love he gave to me. Oh, we had some special times just him and me. For instance when I’d let him have a piece of ham while we were hanging out waiting for Kristen to come home; or even when he would climb all over me to grab an empty soda bottle on which to chew. But in retrospect we did not have nearly enough and I still regret wasting the precious gift of Logan.
But my success has been mixed, at best. A few things I have been successful with, but others I have let slide and the rest, I think in some ways I have gotten worse. I wonder if that big galoot is disappointed sometimes, or if he just thinks, dad is a goof and one day I’ll plow him over and lick his face. I hope it’s the second. So despite starts and stops, ups and downs and successes and failures, I continue to strive to make a better life for myself and Kristen, and now for our new additions.
Yes, we have new additions. It started with Tucker, our big black Labrador retriever/German Sheppard mix. We met Tucker but two weeks after Logan left. We were going out “just to look” because it was “too soon” to think about adopting a dog. But I think our hearts knew we needed someone. The post of head four legged furry creature was vacant, Logan would never want us to keep it unfilled, and as much as he tried Wilshire the cat is not suited for the job. Even Wilshire would tell you that.
So we took a drive and met Tucker. We fell in love almost immediately with the little guy napping in his crate in a noisy shelter. I even remarked, when we took him for a small walk, he had a pant that that sounded a lot like someone we used to know. Kristen still makes fun of me for that, but I could see it in her eyes too that she wanted the little guy. And so, we had a taker for that open post.
It’s been almost a year now with Tucker, and despite the craziness of a puppy growing like a huge weed, it has been wonderful. He is a sleek black, with brown eyes and an athlete’s body. And he can run like a bullet shot from a gun. That wicked speed took some getting used to, since the only time Logan turned on the jets was to head for the food bowl. But Tucker, he turns it on all the time and it still amazes me.
But we didn’t stop there. Thanks to a veterinary technician with a soft touch for a wife, we also in the last few months added a golden retriever to our brood. His name is Bailey, a runt about half the size of Logan, and much lighter in color. And he does some things that remind us very much of Logan. He wags his whole butt when he’s happy, he smiles and has a big need to have a toy in his mouth and is happy to give you the golden paw when he’s happy and wants attention.
Tucker and Bailey get along like peas and carrots. Their unique differences mesh together almost perfectly. Plus they are both so very handsome, and look almost like a matched set. Together they bring untold joy and happiness to our home, and the surface of that has only been scratched. The thought of years ahead with both of them brings a smile, and a smack upside the head anticipating their nutty antics to me right now. We didn’t intend, or think, we needed two dogs to be the successor of one. But that’s what we got and without even knowing it, exactly what we needed.
I like to think that Logan, as a big orange guardian angel, directed us to both Tucker and Bailey, to give us two special guys to make us happy and for us to do the same with them. I also think that orange guardian angel frequently whispers things into both of their ears, especially to do the bad things that drive us nuts. Like how to shred toys efficiently, beg for food, harangue us for attention constantly, that dinner time is the ultimate time of day and dozens of other naughty, frustrating yet wonderful things. And I have told both of them often, at night time when they are tucked into their crates and falling to sleep, that whatever that orange guardian angel tells them to do, no matter how goofy it sounds or that it might drive mommy and daddy nuts, you two make sure you follow those instructions implicitly. Because Logan knows best.
At least with Tucker and Bailey, I have taken one of Logan’s lessons to heart. I never hold back my love for them. Oh sure, when they are being incredibly bad, I yell. But I am never shy about jumping on the floor with them and playing, petting, hugging and kisses on the head. I also try not to take for granted the little things with this pair. From the funny way Tucker chases light to how Bailey flops on you when he wants attention, I try to soak in every moment and goofy thing both of them do. I think with these lessons learned Logan would be proud.
But there is much more I can do. And I know Logan watches and waits, and the day I really turn that corner, a giant gust of wind will be at my back, because he’ll be proud of me and wagging his tail. And with that wind at my back, everything will finally fall into place.
I still feel sad from time to time, but now it’s a good sad. I miss him, and feel it often, but the thoughts of him now make me nostalgic instead of terribly sad. Sometimes, though, I still expect to see him wander into the living room, toy firmly in mouth smiling ridiculously and tail wagging madly. But what I usually get is a black tornado flying around a small golden dervish as the two of them play themselves exhausted. And that new sight makes me smile as much as the memory of the old one.
And so on that note, before I ramble further and trust me I could go on for days, I bring this tale to an end. I’m sure I’m missing details, and I know I’ve left out a thousand stories of that big sweet boy that capture his inimitable personality and spirit. But perhaps when more Tucker and Bailey stories are further written in our lives and memories, the time to share tales of all three boys will come. For now, I want to give one more goodbye and a thank you to you Logan. Thank you for all the love, all the lessons, all the fur, slobber, smiles, goofiness and warm, sweet memories. You will always be in our thoughts and hearts, you big galoot.
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