My dog Hector died today; he was 11 & a half (born May 4th, 2010), and had kidney failure. He'd had high blood pressure for the last year or so, with mild renal impairment on bloods, but about three weeks ago suddenly got very lethargic and was vomiting, and the bloods showed his kidneys were hardly working at all.
He spent three days at the vets' for IV fluids and improved a bit; I brought him home not sure what to expect, and he spent 24 hours being miserable and not moving and I thought the worst, and then he perked up. He's been on subcutaneous fluids and phosphate binders since then, and was managing okay, but definitely not his usual self (not wanting to walk, would only eat chicken), and over the last 24 hours he stopped eating entirely, vomited more, and basically spent today moving weakly from place to place as if hoping one of them would be comfortable, sometimes not even able to lie down. He didn't wag his tail at all.
I phoned the vets' this morning, who said they couldn't fit him in until 9am tomorrow, and then phoned them again after lunch, when he'd only gotten worse, and they managed to reschedule someone else and fit us in at 4.30. I took the kids with me. We spent quite a bit of time with him and then said goodbye; it was very quick.
I got him just before the first Christchurch earthquake, and he was my first dog. I picked him from ~8 cocker spaniel puppies, all the others of which were blue roan (black & white) rather than his chocolate roan, briefly named him Truffle before coming to my senses (it's still his pedigree name), and then I had to toilet train him in a three storey townhouse in the middle of winter, plus then move house multiple times post quakes.
I wanted a not terribly smart dog who could cope with change (I wasn't anticipating earthquakes though!), was sociable and friendly, and liked a moderate amount of exercise, and I got all of that, plus a devoted furry stalker who followed me around the house and particularly enjoyed lying sprawled flat 5cm behind my feet while I was cooking. He did come for runs with me but preferred walks, especially if he could mooch around and explore; he loved water but refused to go out of his depth, and if I threw a ball too far he would sit there on the bank and whine until someone else (usually a helpful labrador) would retrieve it for him.
He was devious about getting food, sneaking up onto furniture, and, in our current house, escaping if anyone left the front gate open in order to visit a neighbour who gave him treats; he usually came back of his own accord and banged on the front door if I hadn't realised he'd gone. He loved the kids and put up with a lot from them. He did howl if we were slow leaving the house and he wasn't coming, and he hated it if we actually ate at the dining table (rather than in the kitchen) and barked at any attempt to exclude him. He grew up with cats and liked them, and as he got older he was less keen on climbing on the backs of sofas (which he learned from one cat) and more on spending his evening getting me to let him in and out the front door at least a dozen times.
He was a great dog. We will miss him heaps.
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