We had to say goodbye to Logan yesterday. I knew it was coming, could smell it on him, the curious scent of soul preparing to leave body. It doesn’t seem to matter that you know it’s coming or for how long you know it’s coming, when the day arrives, you’re not prepared. It still rips your heart out and stomps on it (to quote T).
He didn’t go on his own, although I’m sure that’s what T and Nollind would have liked, for him to just slip away in the night. But that’s not the way with us dogs, we fight, we hang on, we survive, and the struggle can get ugly, and painful.
I wrote once about Logan’s stoic nature. It never changed. But in the past four or five days even he couldn’t hide how difficult it was getting to move from point A to B, or just get up off his bed. On Monday he managed a trek to the back of the pasture (with a Kubota ride home) where T was putting up temporary fencing, but by Thursday, when she took us for just a short tour around the front yard outside Logie-land, he had a hard time making it back to the house. His back legs just didn’t want to hold him up. His will was still strong but his body was giving up on him.
When we came home from our BC trip at the end of August, T made some more adjustments to his medications and it really seemed to give him a boost for a few weeks. He was walking a little better, able to make some short journeys around the farm, and went along on nearly every trip to the barn with T when she was out there two or three times a day looking after Nevada. He loved that, being part of the horse activities, even though he was mostly just lying there watching.
I noticed the change about a week ago, the slow-down, the shift in his mental state. His heart condition and arthritis were progressing beyond the reach of his medication. They made one last change to his meds, hoping it would give him a lift, but it didn’t seem to work. The tiredness, the panting, the struggle, continued. Thursday afternoon he lay down on his bed and slept there until 10 o’clock when T and Nollind came home from an event in the city. And then he slept all night beside their bed, hardly moving. That may seem like normal and appropriate old-dog behaviour, but not for Logan. Only the turmoil in his digestive system finally got him out of bed the next morning.
Despite his failing health, Logan made the trip to let the horses onto the pasture yesterday morning, slow and unsteady and probably painful but he made it … and back again. T or Nollind or sometimes both sat with him all day while he rested on one of his beds or on the deck for a while until he got chilly. The vet came mid-afternoon. It was quick, and quiet, and gentle, like he just went to sleep. Seems it didn’t take a lot to stop an old heart that was already running on fumes. The word euthanasia comes from Greek and means “good death”. I’d have to agree.
I’m doing my best to comfort them, fill the space I know they feel. But I can’t of course. Only time will do that. I’ll miss him too, my sniffing, running, snack-sharing buddy, and I’ll always be grateful to him for accepting me as part of his pack, since I know the decision was ultimately his.
Farewell, old friend. I’ll never forget you.
Chico, T, and Nollind, I’m so sorry for your loss. I will miss hearing from Logan too. Blessings and hugs, Tricia from Oregon
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How absolutely heart wrenching. I wept throughout this wonderful tribute. You have described Logan as stoic. Another word comes to me “valiant”. I love the photos. A fitting resting place indeed. Farewell, Logan.
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The dictionary says valiant means possessing or showing courage or determination. That sounds about right. T and Nollind sometimes called him Prince Logan, based on his tastes in food and comfort. Would that make him Prince Valiant?
Chico
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Prince Valiant, absolutely!
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I am so sorry. It was obvious that it was coming for a while but I didn’t want to read this post because it was final. He will continue to exist in all our hearts thanks to the posts.
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Thank you, Mary. It was a difficult post to write. Happy to hear Logan’s memory will live on outside our little world.
Chico
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How sad and final, we are filled with sympathies for you. Jewel, Nicole and Noël
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Thank you all for thinking of us.
Chico
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I am so sorry for your loss! Such a big loss that old dogs give us, as if to match the immensity of their presence in our lives over the years. I too know that intimate smell as death approaches, the meaning pushed to the back of our thoughts as we try one more thing to change the path ahead. Thank you for sharing and expressing this sad yet special part of your journey. Hugs.
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And you, Chico, are the very definition of a true friend. A very eloquent eulogy for your good buddy.
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I’m planning more of a “celebration of life” post, which will be a lot more fun than the goodbye.
Chico
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🐾❤
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While I knew this day was closer in view than not, when I did see the post, my heart clenched and my eyes misted. No matter how “ready” we think we are, all we want is more time. My heart grieves for your loss. May his memories provide some measure of comfort to you all.
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He’s rallied so many times we were somewhat fooled into thinking the day might never come. But even resilient Logan couldn’t beat the march of time. There are so many good memories, and they do provide comfort. Thank you.
Chico
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Your story made me cry. I’m so sorry for your loss. “The word euthanasia comes from Greek and means “good death”” I didn’t know…thanks for sharing.
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