Friday, we had to put Logan to sleep.
I’m sorry that that seems so blunt, but I’m not really sure how else to begin.
We noticed, about a month ago, that almost overnight he seemed to have become an old man. Bryan mentioned having to tighten his collar during a walk. His once very muscular neck was shrinking, and at the same time, he had developed quite the tummy. At first, we brushed it off on his age, but when his stomach started looking bigger by the day and his breathing turned to panting, we knew something was wrong.
Three weeks ago, today, we were finally able to get him to his vet for an ultrasound. The scan proved our fears were right- the quick expansion of his stomach was a result of malignant growth. His liver and spleen were eaten up with cancer, tumors so large they were crowding his diaphragm, leading to the shortness of breath. Dr. D told us, gently as she could, that given his age and the aggressiveness of the cancer, that surgery wasn’t an option. Our best bet, she said, was to keep him comfortable, keep him happy.
He stayed happy. Friends and neighbors brought dog treats, sent love notes and well-wishes. He was treated to human food in his dinner, and had visits from his grandparents and long-time dog-sitter.
He stayed comfortable until last week, when he became so weak that he couldn’t make it all the way up the stairs one night. Then, he couldn’t make it in from the backyard. Thursday morning, his tail stopped wagging, and I knew he was tired. I laid with him in the floor and cried until Bryan came home for lunch. That night, Logan had a hamburger, and was kissed so often he was probably annoyed.
Friday, we took off of work, and spent the morning with him, reminding him of how much he was loved, and how wonderful of a pet he’d been, how good of a protector, how great of a big brother to Kent.
I’ve never had to go through this before. I grew up on a farm, with farm dogs. They lived outside, where there was the threat of getting lost, getting hit by cars, dying of their own accord while in hot pursuit of a groundhog. It was Bryan that brought indoor pets with him.
Logan was already a part of the Mills family when B and I began dating almost 10 years ago- he was adopted in the spring of 2005. As long as I’ve been around, it was always me and them. There was never a time that it’s just been Bryan and myself. Even when we first met, in Bryan’s myspace profile photo, there Logan was also. I entered a relationship with them both, and Logan dutifully took on the role of my protector, guarding me from the mailman, and from angry ducks at the park, and at night, sleeping under the covers with me, curled up next to my butt, making sure he would know the moment I shifted from a nightmare or woke up to go get breakfast.
When Kent was adopted, Thanksgiving week of 2006, Logan took to him immediately. Despite not getting along with other dogs, he seemed to fall in love with his little brother, knowing that this weird, jaunty little beagle was in his charge for life. They were inseparable, sans Kent’s eye surgery in 2007 and an emergency room visit in 2013, when Logan was beside himself with worry, and glared at his Papa and I as if we had broken his one rule- “The tiny stays with me.”
The last three days, the house has been quiet. Kent seems to be depressed, sleeping most of the day. We’ve tried to keep him occupied by taking him for walks, bringing him for coffee at our favorite coffee spot, and introducing him to new friends, but when he gets home, he curls into a ball and closes his eyes. It’s as if he has the same, sporadic crying fits that Bryan and I are having, knowing that a quarter of this family is now missing.
Our lives will go on- I know that- and eventually, we’ll all get used to the fact that there’s no one begging for treats, alerting us that it’s almost time for dinner, or barking every time someone approaches the front door.
We’ve promised Kent that we’ll never replace his big brother. He’s going to live out the rest of his days with us as a spoiled only child, hopefully happy that he has two loving parents to dote on him alone, parents that he’s had wrapped around his tiny dog finger since the day we met him, when he fell asleep on Bryan’s shoulder at the Humane Society. I know it may not be true, but he seems to understand what’s happened, and he looks at us with his big brown eyes and seems to know that he’s keeping us going, too.
… And he is. There’s a love in that dog that wakes me up and makes me giggle. The way his pupils dilate when he knows I’m making whipped cream, and his funky little butt-wiggle when he’s on a walk in full cruise mode make me smile. He’ll never replace the love that was lost when Logan left us, but the way he snuggles me at night and greets me at the door forces me to remember that we’re still a family, and we’re still strong, and that we’re still a house full of love.
