Logan's Page

Weight: 110
Breed: Doberman Pinschers
Age when diagnosed: 6

Tumors:

Five years ago, I decided that I wanted to find a Doberman. I'd fallen in love with the breed a few years earlier, and now had the time and space to think about looking for a dog. Logan was listed as free to a good home and had, in fact, gone through two of them on his way to my house.

I brought him home as a two year old, who still had enough puppy in him to make me go crazy. He was not trained at all and had enough energy for three dogs. Hour long runs and chase the stick games were not enough to settle him down. He taught himself how to open the cabinets to get at the trash can and, true to his generous nature, shared the booty with the rest of the house. He was tall enough to reach the counters without lifting his paws off the ground to help himself, and he did. He stole socks, pulled tissues out of the trash can, and ate everything that wasn't nailed down. I found out very quickly about his utter hatred for whitetail deer. Other dogs were not his favorite thing, something that would not change, with a few notable exceptions, for the rest of his life.

He was just the dog I had been looking for. The two of us spent the next five years together. We went hiking, for rides in the car, watched movies, moved four times, went for a walk during a hurricane, and got ourselves into trouble more than once. He earned his CGC award after going through obedience class and starting out wanting to kill every other dog in the building. He helped me to carry my groceries, cleaned up the floor after I cooked, and was there whenever I needed him. He kept me from being mugged one time, and woke me up one night when someone was trying to force their way into my house through the basement door.

We went to the vets in the beginning of September, 2007, to follow up on limping and stiffness. I was worried about his hips, since Dobermans are prone to hip problems. She took xrays, and confirmed that he had arthritis in his hips and back knees, along with a mild deformity in the right hip. She also found a fuzzy area on his left back leg. We went to the radiologist, and after taking a second set of xrays on September 26th, confirmed the diagnosis of osteosarcoma.

The best diagnosis was one to six months. He couldn't be amputated, because of the arthritis and physical inability to be a three legged dog. I decided that we would start pain management and enjoy whatever time we had left. We celebrated his seventh birthday on October 15th, with a visit to his favorite place, Chick Fil'A.

Four weeks after he was diagnosed, he stood up from his rug and fractured his leg at the tumor site. We made the last visit to the vet on October 21th, 2007, five days after his birthday.

It's always amazing to me when I think about how much dogs add to our lives. In a very real sense, Logan wasn't just my dog. Sure, I was the one who was his main person, the one who couldn't move anywhere in the house without my shadow following me. But in the weeks since his death, I've really appreciated how many lives he's touched. He belonged to everyone who knew him, with his generous nature and always knowing exactly when someone needed a dog to hug.

I miss him so much. I will never take for granted the time I was honored to share with him, and I will never forget my Logan dog.

Pictures