The life and times of an irrational father. One man, multiple personalities.
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Remembering Logan

November 14th, 2009 | Posted by Joe in grief | Logan | loss | memories - (8 Comments)

One year ago, today, Sarah and I had to say goodbye to a family member. If you aren’t an “animal-person” then you don’t understand the pain and emotional turmoil in making the decision to do what we did. It was one of the most difficult, if not THE most difficult of, decisions that we have made. Looking back over the last year, how much Tyler has changed, how he interacts with Delilah, and how much energy he has, we know we made the right decision. There was no other decision. I’m reposting the post I made exactly one year ago, because it feels right to me. Thanks for reading.

-Joe


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I’ve had to close the book on 4 years of memories today. We had one of our dogs “put down” this morning.

We adopted Logan from the Indiana ASPCA in 2004. Sarah and I had moved in together in Fort Wayne, Indiana. We moved down there for her job. This was in 2003. We talked back and forth about getting a dog and really wanted to rescue one from a shelter. We finally did so on March 10, 2004, when we met Logan.

When they brought him out, Logan was skittish around me, but warmed to Sarah pretty quickly. We both fell in love with him immediately, so we adopted him. Over the course of the next few days, he warmed to me as well. All told, he was a perfect companion for Sarah and myself. We put him through training classes, which he excelled at, taught him lots of tricks, took him for lots of walks, and just generally pampered him.

We noticed rather quickly that Logan was absolutely petrified of basements. I can’t remember when it was, but we found out that Logan had been abused pretty harshly by his previous owners. This information solidified our resolve to give him the best life we could provide. Our love for Logan ran very deep; he was our first pet, and the first addition to our family.
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Logan loved stuffed toys that “squeak” when you squeeze them. I swear, Sarah was buying him a new “baby” every week. He had a wicker basket that was overflowing with green monkeys, purple elephants, and red giraffes. Logan would just sprawl himself across the floor and squeak his toys over and over again.

Click to view larger

Logan also loved to “hug”. Everyday, when I’d come home from work, one of the first things I had to do was go into the living room and drop to my knees. Logan would sit, tail wagging back and forth, and wait.

“Logan, can I have a hug?”, I’d say.

As soon as I said “hug”, Logan would hop up onto his back legs, and throw his front legs on either side of my neck. It was absolutely adorable, and it’s probably one of my favorite things about him.

Logan has always been able to “sense” when something was wrong with Sarah. Anytime she felt sad or lonely, Logan would always cuddle up next to her and keep her company. She loved petting and rubbing his soft, floppy ears. It always made Sarah feel better.
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Unfortunately, owning a dog that had been abused has created a behavioral issue that Sarah and I have been unable to correct. Logan bites. He’s bitten a few members of Sarah’s family. I’m not going to rehash those memories, or the circumstances involved, because I just don’t think it’s necessary. About a year and a half ago, we decided that we either had to never allow him around other people, or put him down. We opted for the former.

We knew we’d have to revisit the subject when Sarah got pregnant, but we made excuse after excuse to put off the inevitable. We got so desperate for help that I posted an ad on craigslist, and Sarah wrote to Cesar Millan. We thought we had hope when someone answered my post, saying she ran a no-kill shelter and would “love to take Logan”. After a couple weeks of trading emails and voicemails, she backed out, and quit all communication. We were devastated. We still are.

After making more excuses and putting it off, I finally called the vet yesterday.

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Sarah took Logan for a walk this morning. Actually, she let Logan take her for a walk. She let him go whatever direction he wanted to go, let him pee on all the trees and leaf piles he wanted to, and let him stop and sniff everything. He loved it. When they got home, we let him and Delilah wrestle for a while. Then, Sarah and I cuddled with Logan and cried over him.

Doc assured us and reassured us that we were doing the right thing. We knew we were; we’d never be able to forgive ourselves if Tyler grabbed Logan’s tail and something happened. But that didn’t make anything easier for us. It didn’t lessen any of the pain we were feeling.

Sarah and I held Logan in our arms as Doc gave him a shot in his front leg. Just a couple seconds later, Logan collapsed. It was, by far, one of the most heartbreaking experiences of my entire life. I immediately wanted to take it all back and start over again. I quickly removed his muzzle and started kissing his snout, telling him I was sorry, and that I loved him.

Logan, I’m going to miss your hugs. Your rare kisses. Your companionship. Your loyalty. Most of all, I’ll miss you. We already do. Goodbye, Logan. You were a great friend, a cherished protector, and a loved family member. You will always be in my heart and Sarah’s heart.
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Rest in Peace, my friend
Logan Bouse Gearhart
May 10, 2003 – November 14, 2008

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It happened last night

June 16th, 2009 | Posted by Joe in grief | hospital | irrational dad | nightmares | Tyler - (10 Comments)

Tyler had to have emergency brain surgery. Everything happened so suddenly that the only thing I remember clearly was being in the recovery room.

I remember holding Sarah’s hand, and looking down on a son that didn’t recognize us. The uncertainty of us ever leading a "normal" life again tightened in my chest and made my heart ache. When Tyler tried looking around the room, his head didn’t turn, but rolled instead. Looking to his right, we could see where the doctor cut his freshly shaven scalp. The doctor cut a flap the size of a quarter that was now held shut with a number of staples. The area showed the beginnings of bruising. Currently, it had a yellow/green tint to it that would blossom to purple in another day or two.

Tyler rolled to the side. Whether he did this to stand up or just to roll over, we’re not sure because the side panel of the pediatric stretcher was lowered, and Tyler rolled off the stretcher and to the hard, faux wood floor.

He didn’t even cry when he made his sudden, and forceful, contact with the maple-colored laminate. I rushed around the stretcher to pick Tyler up, while Sarah screamed for help.

I thought, "Please God, don’t let it be his head that hit the floor. Please God. Please, please, please please please."

All my wild thoughts were realized when I looked at the site of his surgery. Blood flowed freely from the area where the staples had failed to do their sole duty. I cried out in shock and horror, holding Tyler’s limp body and refusing to believe the worst of all parental fears.

I could faintly hear the monitoring system calling for assistance to our room. I screamed until my throat felt like it would rip itself open. Tightly holding Tyler against me, with people and machines rushing into the room, I heard a baby’s cry.

I woke with a start to the sound of my alarm clock and Tyler crying in his room. The severity off all my emotions faded immediately, but their presence persisted. I turned my alarm off, walked into Tyler’s room and to the baby who had awakened without his pacifier. Under any other circumstances, I would give him a paci, lay him down, and tell him to finish his nigh nighs. After an "I love you" and a kiss on the forehead, I would leave and shut the door behind me.

But this was not "any other circumstances." I pulled Tyler out of his crib and hugged him as tightly as I felt I safely could.

"Thanks for saving me from that one, bud. I love you to the moon and back… Now, hows about you finish your nigh nighs?"

Vivid dreams like that scare the crap outta me, because they stick with you all day. They are like the tiny paper cut on your finger; it hurts just enough to make you remember it’s there. If you keep your mind busy with tasks, you forget about it. But, as soon as your mind has time to wander, you feel the dull throb of a tiny heartbeat in your finger again.

When I was younger, my two worst (recurring) dreams involved me being chased by Frankenstein’s monster (which I will incorrectly refer to simply as Frankenstein here). In one, I was running through my elementary school, down never ending corridors, while a hundred foot tall Frankenstein destroyed the hallways behind me with his footsteps. Running, running, running, I could never get out of the school or away from the giant Frankenstein. In the other, I was running from a more humanly sized Frankenstein in my backyard. In this version, I couldn’t scream, I could only run in circles around the fenced in yard, and I could only run as if my legs weighed a thousand pounds. Each.

The dream I had last night was scarier than both of those combined tenfold, and I pray I never have that dream again. I’ll take on a giant Frankenstein any every day of the week for the rest of my life before I’d hold the lifeless body of my own son… even if it was only a dream.

Goodbye, My Friend.

November 14th, 2008 | Posted by Joe in grief | Logan | loss - (9 Comments)
Click to view larger

I’ve had to close the book on 4 years of memories today. We had one of our dogs “put down” this morning.

We adopted Logan from the Indiana ASPCA in 2004. Sarah and I had moved in together in Fort Wayne, Indiana. We moved down there for her job. This was in 2003. We talked back and forth about getting a dog and really wanted to rescue one from a shelter. We finally did so on March 10, 2004, when we met Logan.

When they brought him out, Logan was skittish around me, but warmed to Sarah pretty quickly. We both fell in love with him immediately, so we adopted him. Over the course of the next few days, he warmed to me as well. All told, he was a perfect companion for Sarah and myself. We put him through training classes, which he excelled at, taught him lots of tricks, took him for lots of walks, and just generally pampered him.

We noticed rather quickly that Logan was absolutely petrified of basements. I can’t remember when it was, but we found out that Logan had been abused pretty harshly by his previous owners. This information solidified our resolve to give him the best life we could provide. Our love for Logan ran very deep; he was our first pet, and the first addition to our family.

Click to view larger

Logan loved stuffed toys that “squeak” when you squeeze them. I swear, Sarah was buying him a new “baby” every week. He had a wicker basket that was overflowing with green monkeys, purple elephants, and red giraffes. Logan would just sprawl himself across the floor and squeak his toys over and over again.

Click to view larger

Logan also loved to “hug”. Everyday, when I’d come home from work, one of the first things I had to do was go into the living room and drop to my knees. Logan would sit, tail wagging back and forth, and wait.

“Logan, can I have a hug?”, I’d say.

As soon as I said “hug”, Logan would hop up onto his back legs, and throw his front legs on either side of my neck. It was absolutely adorable, and it’s probably one of my favorite things about him.

Logan has always been able to “sense” when something was wrong with Sarah. Anytime she felt sad or lonely, Logan would always cuddle up next to her and keep her company. She loved petting and rubbing his soft, floppy ears. It always made Sarah feel better.

Click to view larger

Unfortunately, owning a dog that had been abused has created a behavioral issue that Sarah and I have been unable to correct. Logan bites. He’s bitten a few members of Sarah’s family. I’m not going to rehash those memories, or the circumstances involved, because I just don’t think it’s necessary. About a year and a half ago, we decided that we either had to never allow him around other people, or put him down. We opted for the former.

We knew we’d have to revisit the subject when Sarah got pregnant, but we made excuse after excuse to put off the inevitable. We got so desperate for help that I posted an ad on craigslist, and Sarah wrote to Cesar Millan. We thought we had hope when someone answered my post, saying she ran a no-kill shelter and would “love to take Logan”. After a couple weeks of trading emails and voicemails, she backed out, and quit all communication. We were devastated. We still are.

After making more excuses and putting it off, I finally called the vet yesterday.

Click to view larger

Sarah took Logan for a walk this morning. Actually, she let Logan take her for a walk. She let him go whatever direction he wanted to go, let him pee on all the trees and leaf piles he wanted to, and let him stop and sniff everything. He loved it. When they got home, we let him and Delilah wrestle for a while. Then, Sarah and I cuddled with Logan and cried over him.

Doc assured us and reassured us that we were doing the right thing. We knew we were; we’d never be able to forgive ourselves if Tyler grabbed Logan’s tail and something happened. But that didn’t make anything easier for us. It didn’t lessen any of the pain we were feeling.

Sarah and I held Logan in our arms as Doc gave him a shot in his front leg. Just a couple seconds later, Logan collapsed. It was, by far, one of the most heartbreaking experiences of my entire life. I immediately wanted to take it all back and start over again. I quickly removed his muzzle and started kissing his snout, telling him I was sorry, and that I loved him.

Logan, I’m going to miss your hugs. Your rare kisses. Your companionship. Your loyalty. Most of all, I’ll miss you. We already do. Goodbye, Logan. You were a great friend, a cherished protector, and a loved family member. You will always be in my heart and Sarah’s heart.

Click to view larger
Rest in Peace, my friend
Logan Bouse Gearhart
May 10, 2003 – November 14, 2008

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