Hello, extended Stinkywrinkles family. I’m terribly sad to announce that our sweet, bestest boy, our wonderful Hurley, finally succumbed to his long-term health issues on Wednesday.
He was diagnosed with tracheal collapse at the age of 2 and underwent soft palate surgery at that time to help clear his airway. With careful management of his activities, temperature, and weight, he was able to lead a long and joyful life by our sides, go on adventures, and be his best silly self. He’d gone blind and deaf over time, needed various eyedrops 4 times a day, occasionally had a bladder or tooth issue…. But mostly he was still fit, had good mobility, always a voracious appetite, and was happy to spend his days snuggling, snoozing, screaming at us for supper, and snuffling for treats in the yard. We adapted ourselves to his disabilities and needs, carried him, lifted him on and off furniture, guided him around with gentle cues, and did our best to ensure his comfort, safety, and happiness as his world slowly grew smaller.
We knew he was in the late stages of his tracheal collapse when he finally developed that telltale “honking” cough in the past year or so. Still, it was manageable. Most days he was fine, and still able to do all his favorite little things.
Then on Monday morning, he suddenly had a 10-second seizure after a small coughing fit. Within 48 hours his breathing had degraded until he was quietly wheezing more often than not, his heart was racing whenever he was awake, and there was a rattle in his breath. These are the last pictures I took of him on Wednesday morning, when he was still calm…. but he was obviously wearing down.
In a twist of terrible timing, I had a video-call job interview to get through that afternoon, and was desperately trying to keep myself together just one more hour, then we could say goodbye to Hurley that evening….. but when Bear called to make the appointment, the vet recommended an emergency euthanasia based on his worsening condition. My interview didn’t work out and then I came downstairs to find out we had MINUTES to take Hurley in instead of hours. My poor heart was not ready, and it was devastating. But we couldn’t ask our sweet boy to hold on anymore. :(
Bear absolutely did the right thing because the emergency vet just barely managed to put Hurley to sleep in my arms before he could asphyxiate right in front of us. It was terrible and he was scared, there wasn’t even any time to sedate him. He’d been “okay” on the drive there but within another 20 minutes he was in such respiratory distress it was actually a relief when he went still. It wasn’t at all how we wanted him to go, and I wish more than anything we could’ve had more time. It’s never enough time. :(
I’d been lucky enough to work from home for Hurley’s entire life and can probably count on one hand the number of full days I’d ever had to spend away from him in 12 years. He was my first dog, our first dog as a couple, and truly a gem of a companion. He was hilarious, goofy, super-affectionate, and weird. He made us laugh every single day, whether by his actions or his quirky personality or his sweet, dopey face.
We found Hurley in the classifieds when we were first thinking of getting a dog 12 years ago. He was 6 months old and his owner felt it better to rehome him as he worked long shifts. We drove over “just to look” (lol), but I was a goner the second they put this clumsy little potato named Hurley on the porch and he stumble-crawled into my lap. He was completely trusting and sweet-tempered, accepted us as his new family immediately, and was glued to us forever.
Hurley was 100% a “people dog”. He had little to no interest in other dogs (beyond sniffing their butts), although he did bond nicely with Roxy when we added her to the mix 6 months later. He loved us with his whole wrinkly heart and always had to be by our sides. He used to play a little when he was younger, but for the most part he wasn’t a “play dog” either. He was a “velcro dog” and a “food dog”. His favorite things in the world were his people, his yard, cuddles, meals, Roxy, and treats. And barking. MAN could that little guy bark. Barks loaded in every wrinkle.
He loved trick-training, and even though he was a bit of a slow leaner, once he nailed a command he’d perform it with joy and enthusiasm every time. He loved to high-five, and retained that ability even after he’d gone blind and deaf because he was able to learn a different cue for it. His disabilities sort of forcibly eroded the “language” we’d built up all the years prior, but we figured out how to communicate the same messages in new ways, and he was visibly excited whenever he “got” whatever I was trying to tell him through guidance and gentle touch-cues. He trusted us through every frightening new change in his life and health, and was always sweet, friendly, and tolerant with vets, groomers, and visitors. Forever a squirmer, never a fighter or biter.
Hurley was the definition of a “good boy”. We couldn’t train him to stop barking for the life of us, but he was never destructive in the house, never naughty or sneaky at all, just a simple little guy with simple needs, love in his heart and a gentle tail-wag (and maybe a fart) in his bum. His best days were spent sniffing and exploring the outdoors, going on adventure-walks before his blindness made new environments stressful, being with his family, and napping in a sunbeam or warm blanket with a full belly. He loved Bear to bits, but was truly a momma’s boy to his core. Being a dog’s “chosen person" is a special kind of bond I can’t even put into words. He was happiest when he could be near me, fused to my side if possible, and I’ll forever be thankful my circumstances allowed me to spend nearly every day of his life with him. From the moment he first clambered into my lap, I knew he was mine, and that I’d hold him snug in my arms when he had to leave this earth.
I’m glad he’s not suffering anymore, and we always knew this time would come, but the loss has left a huge hole in my heart. His daily care in the past few years was amounting to a lot of work, and realizing I no longer have all these dozens of little tasks to do to tend to his health, safety, or comfort feels strange and unfamiliar. Roxy didn’t have much of a reaction at first but has now noticed he’s “missing” from the household and has been worried and extra-clingy, either because she’s feeding off our emotions or because she’s concerned we’ll disappear too. We’re trying to keep her routine as normal as possible. This is the first time in over 15 years we’ve only had one pet to care for, so now it’s officially “Princess Roxy Time” where she gets to rule over us and soak up our full attention like she’s probably always secretly wanted, lol. Hurley’s needs greatly limited the activities we were able to do with her or the places we could go as a family, but we’ll make sure Roxy’s remaining years are some of her most wonderful yet.
All in all, we know we gave our special boy a happy and full life tailored to his needs and personality, and always did our best for him. I’ll love you forever, my bestest little buddy, my funny squishy boy, my sweet happy Hurwee. You’ll be in my heart always.
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