Written By David Gomez
I don’t think I have ever written about Logan here. Logan is probably the most loyal companion I have ever had in my life. To me, he is almost like a son. Logan is my dog, a Basset Hound who will soon turn eight. He and I are both from Peru, and we arrived in this country together. There is no way to explain the kind of love we can feel for our dogs or cats. I remember Logan as a puppy, stepping on his ears when he ran, or howling at the sky with all his might. We have been together since he was just two months old, and since then we have been inseparable.
Dogs have been, and continue to be, our companions and friends—often the most important members of our families. For thousands of years, they have given everything just to stay by our side. They have endured violence, hunger, experimentation, and suffering. In return, they have offered us their company, their love, their loyalty, their work, and even their selflessness.
I cannot imagine a world without Logan, just as I cannot imagine a world where dogs are deliberately harmed. It is not only inhumane and cruel, but abominable and insulting to our own specie.
This is why the recent revelations about medical testing on dogs in London shook me to my core. The idea that in modern Canada, where compassion is supposed to be a defining value, dogs were being used in invasive experiments without clear, enforceable ethical safeguards is both alarming and profoundly disappointing. It feels like a betrayal—not only of these animals, but of the trust that citizens place in institutions meant to protect both health and humanity.
The absence of transparent ethical protocols in such research is perhaps the most troubling aspect. In theory, there are guidelines for animal testing in Canada, but the lack of strict enforcement means too much is left to discretion. When it comes to sentient beings who feel pain, fear, and love—beings like Logan—the idea of discretion is not enough. There must be clear, non-negotiable protections, and consequences when they are ignored.
Science has given us extraordinary advances. We owe much of modern medicine to research, and historically, animals have been part of that process. But history cannot be an excuse to continue practices that we know are cruel, unnecessary, and outdated. Today, technology provides alternatives. Continuing to experiment on dogs and cats reflects more about institutional inertia and lack of accountability than about scientific necessity.
When a hospital or research centre conducts such studies behind closed doors, without proactive transparency, it undermines public trust. People donate to hospitals, believing their money goes toward healing and progress, not to experiments that many would find morally unacceptable. Once trust is broken, it is not easily repaired.
That is exactly what happened at St. Joseph’s Health Care in London. After it was revealed that its research institute conducted invasive procedures on dogs—procedures that sparked outrage across the province—the hospital moved quickly to announce an end to all dog studies. The decision only came after protests, petitions, and mounting political pressure. For many, the damage had already been done: the image of trusted medical institutions secretly running experiments on companion animals is not one that fades easily.
There is also the broader cultural question: what does it say about us as a society if we allow this to continue? Dogs are not abstract laboratory subjects. They are the same animals we welcome into our homes, celebrate on their birthdays, and grieve for when they pass away. If we accept cruelty toward them under the guise of science, where do we draw the line?
The decision to halt these experiments is a victory for compassion, but it should not be the end of the story. It must be the beginning of a deeper reckoning about how Canada regulates research involving animals. Legislation should not just ban dog and cat testing—it should establish robust systems to replace outdated animal models with humane, scientifically advanced alternatives. Public funding should actively support innovation in cruelty-free research, creating an environment where progress does not come at the expense of suffering.
For me, this issue is personal. When I look into Logan’s eyes, I see trust, joy, and unconditional love. He has no idea of the debates humans have about “scientific necessity” or “protocols.” He just knows that I am his family and that he is safe with me. The thought that other dogs, no different from him, were used in painful procedures and discarded, is unbearable.
This is not simply an animal welfare issue—it is a moral one. The way we treat animals reveals the kind of society we are building. If compassion is to mean anything, it must extend to those who cannot speak for themselves. Ending dog experimentation is a step in the right direction, but it should also serve as a wake-up call: we can and must do better.
Because at the end of the day, our progress as humans is not measured only by what we achieve in medicine or technology, but by how we choose to wield that progress. Do we use it to justify cruelty? Or do we use it to advance knowledge while protecting the vulnerable?
I know which world I want to live in. It is a world where Logan—and every dog like him—is cherished, not sacrificed in the name of science.
