Four years ago I put down my best friend, Logan.  He was the first dog I ever owned.  Sure, it’s been four years, but I think the first puppy love one never forgets.

I adopted him when he was approximately two-three years old from a local animal shelter in upstate New York.  He moved to South Carolina with me after I graduated college and moved with me back up to Brooklyn.  I only had about eight years with him and despite the many dogs I’ve had since then and currently have, I still miss him.

That summer was one of the worst summers of my life.  I came close to killing myself in May, I was in this tumultuous relationship (which led to my attempted suicide), and finally, my boyfriend moved out in July.

I spent the entire month of July crying.  I cried before I went to work, held it together during work, and then came back home to cry myself to sleep.  Cry, work, cry, sleep.  Repeat.

I finally started to feel slightly better by the end of the month and I needed to make more money now that the boyfriend was gone. I started camming again on MFC.  I cammed during the day and then went to my restaurant job at night.  I got into a routine and my days and nights of crying became less and less.

But a few weeks before Logan passed away, he and Deva had gotten in a bad fight.  By that time Logan was already needing a sling to assist in walking him.  My dog walker was trying to help Logan up and put him in the sling, and Deva being a stubborn, Alpha dog did not quite understand what was going on and ended up attacking Logan.  Deva actually had more damage to her and had to be taken to the vet.  I spoke to a dog behaviorist after this incident and he said she was trying to control the situation.  She had never done that with me before because she knew I wouldn’t have it.

Despite Logan looking like he came out on top of that fight, it took a lot out of him.  In the weeks following the fight, he was struggling even more to get up and then I noticed this large sore on the inside of his one leg.  It looked like an irritation from not being able to be mobile. I knew I had to take him in and I knew I probably wasn’t going to come back with him.

I took him to my vet in Park Slope and I knew what they were going to tell me.  I didn’t want him to suffer.  I called a friend to be there with me that I knew wasn’t working that day, since we both worked at the same place and I knew we had off, and who I knew was not too far from where I was.  She said she was out to lunch with a friend.

So I said goodbye to my best friend of eight years and all I could think was that I was such a shitty mom to him the last year of his life.

I lost myself that whole year I was with my ex.  It was such a toxic relationship.  I was completely focused on trying to hold onto him, on keeping us together, that I gave up on everything else.  I dropped out of school (this was when I was going for four more Bachelor’s), I didn’t spend time with friends, except when I saw them at work or school, and I barely spent time with my animals.

I feel like I wasted an entire year of Logan’s life being a selfish, depressed, suicidal mess all because of a man I was infatuated with. It was the ugliest version of myself thus far.

I had just gotten back into a routine at the very end of July, and then Robin Williams died on August 11th, and then I had to put Logan down on the 30th.  Needless to say, I went back into my depression.

But my best friend suggested in the fall that I move to Vegas.  She knew I needed a fresh start.  So I looked into it and moved to Vegas that December.

I do miss New York.  If I didn’t have the menagerie I currently have, I would be back there.  But my animals ground me.  And Deva, who is now the old lady of the house, is much happier having a yard and space.  They were part of the reason I moved.  Their happiness is my happiness.

Not only do I remember putting down Logan on this day, but my mind is filled with awful memories of what I did to myself and the version of me that I turned into.  I can’t help but think I let him down that last year of his life.  I know I did and I hate myself for it.  I will never forgive myself for that.

But the last couple months before he died, I spent many days just crying and hugging him because I was shattered and heartbroken. He was there for me like he always had been, and I just hope he knows how much he was loved despite my failures.