I wish everyone could have known Hector. He was such a special boy, very respectful and grateful. He was a "pound hound" who had been picked up by the humane society as a stray. I couldn't believe that no one had looked for him to take him back home!
We were so lucky to have adopted Hector and to have him join our family. He got along well with everyone and was a real beauty to boot. We never knew what kind of mix he was. His fur was silky and so gray that it was blue.
Hector never had a sick day in his life--always happy and healthy. He LOVED his walks at the dog park and was a well known favorite at the park for several years. Then, on the Saturday before Thanksgiving in 2005, Hector collapsed at the park--one minute he was running and chasing the ball, and the next minute he was flat out on the ground. Several folks helped me to get him to the car (he was sort of a big boy at 65 lbs) and I took him straight to my vet. By the time we got there, he was actually doing OK--sitting up and breathing just fine. It was almost as if nothing had happened! But that Monday, I took him to a specialty clinic where they ran a CT scan. He was diagnosed with a tumor on his big, old heart--hemangiosarcoma--and we were told that he might live 2-4 weeks. We opted against chemotherapy because we wanted his last days to be good ones. He lived another three weeks and they were the best three weeks we could have asked for. Those 21 days were such a gift! He was happy and seemed like his regular old goofy self. We fed him whatever he wanted, still continued his walks at a nice slow pace, snuggled with him every chance we got, and told him what a wonderful dog he had been. He died quietly one morning after sitting up with me all night when I was sick the flu. He was such a good dog and is still sorely missed.
Hector was cremated and we scattered some of his ashes at Bear Creek Dog Park in Colorado Springs and some were scattered at our cabin in the mountains where he liked to chase rabbits. His "dad" Steve made a memorial marker out of a piece of marble that we placed on a little rise near a pine tree where I would toss the frisbee for him. We visit this spot often, which looks out over the mountains, and tell Hector what a great dog he was.
We were so lucky to have adopted Hector and to have him join our family. He got along well with everyone and was a real beauty to boot. We never knew what kind of mix he was. His fur was silky and so gray that it was blue.
Hector never had a sick day in his life--always happy and healthy. He LOVED his walks at the dog park and was a well known favorite at the park for several years. Then, on the Saturday before Thanksgiving in 2005, Hector collapsed at the park--one minute he was running and chasing the ball, and the next minute he was flat out on the ground. Several folks helped me to get him to the car (he was sort of a big boy at 65 lbs) and I took him straight to my vet. By the time we got there, he was actually doing OK--sitting up and breathing just fine. It was almost as if nothing had happened! But that Monday, I took him to a specialty clinic where they ran a CT scan. He was diagnosed with a tumor on his big, old heart--hemangiosarcoma--and we were told that he might live 2-4 weeks. We opted against chemotherapy because we wanted his last days to be good ones. He lived another three weeks and they were the best three weeks we could have asked for. Those 21 days were such a gift! He was happy and seemed like his regular old goofy self. We fed him whatever he wanted, still continued his walks at a nice slow pace, snuggled with him every chance we got, and told him what a wonderful dog he had been. He died quietly one morning after sitting up with me all night when I was sick the flu. He was such a good dog and is still sorely missed.
Hector was cremated and we scattered some of his ashes at Bear Creek Dog Park in Colorado Springs and some were scattered at our cabin in the mountains where he liked to chase rabbits. His "dad" Steve made a memorial marker out of a piece of marble that we placed on a little rise near a pine tree where I would toss the frisbee for him. We visit this spot often, which looks out over the mountains, and tell Hector what a great dog he was.
I wish everyone could have known Hector. He was such a special boy, very respectful and grateful. He was a "pound hound" who had been picked up by the humane society as a stray. I couldn't believe that no one had looked for him to take him back home!
We were so lucky to have adopted Hector and to have him join our family. He got along well with everyone and was a real beauty to boot. We never knew what kind of mix he was. His fur was silky and so gray that it was blue.
Hector never had a sick day in his life--always happy and healthy. He LOVED his walks at the dog park and was a well known favorite at the park for several years. Then, on the Saturday before Thanksgiving in 2005, Hector collapsed at the park--one minute he was running and chasing the ball, and the next minute he was flat out on the ground. Several folks helped me to get him to the car (he was sort of a big boy at 65 lbs) and I took him straight to my vet. By the time we got there, he was actually doing OK--sitting up and breathing just fine. It was almost as if nothing had happened! But that Monday, I took him to a specialty clinic where they ran a CT scan. He was diagnosed with a tumor on his big, old heart--hemangiosarcoma--and we were told that he might live 2-4 weeks. We opted against chemotherapy because we wanted his last days to be good ones. He lived another three weeks and they were the best three weeks we could have asked for. Those 21 days were such a gift! He was happy and seemed like his regular old goofy self. We fed him whatever he wanted, still continued his walks at a nice slow pace, snuggled with him every chance we got, and told him what a wonderful dog he had been. He died quietly one morning after sitting up with me all night when I was sick the flu. He was such a good dog and is still sorely missed.
Hector was cremated and we scattered some of his ashes at Bear Creek Dog Park in Colorado Springs and some were scattered at our cabin in the mountains where he liked to chase rabbits. His "dad" Steve made a memorial marker out of a piece of marble that we placed on a little rise near a pine tree where I would toss the frisbee for him. We visit this spot often, which looks out over the mountains, and tell Hector what a great dog he was.
We were so lucky to have adopted Hector and to have him join our family. He got along well with everyone and was a real beauty to boot. We never knew what kind of mix he was. His fur was silky and so gray that it was blue.
Hector never had a sick day in his life--always happy and healthy. He LOVED his walks at the dog park and was a well known favorite at the park for several years. Then, on the Saturday before Thanksgiving in 2005, Hector collapsed at the park--one minute he was running and chasing the ball, and the next minute he was flat out on the ground. Several folks helped me to get him to the car (he was sort of a big boy at 65 lbs) and I took him straight to my vet. By the time we got there, he was actually doing OK--sitting up and breathing just fine. It was almost as if nothing had happened! But that Monday, I took him to a specialty clinic where they ran a CT scan. He was diagnosed with a tumor on his big, old heart--hemangiosarcoma--and we were told that he might live 2-4 weeks. We opted against chemotherapy because we wanted his last days to be good ones. He lived another three weeks and they were the best three weeks we could have asked for. Those 21 days were such a gift! He was happy and seemed like his regular old goofy self. We fed him whatever he wanted, still continued his walks at a nice slow pace, snuggled with him every chance we got, and told him what a wonderful dog he had been. He died quietly one morning after sitting up with me all night when I was sick the flu. He was such a good dog and is still sorely missed.
Hector was cremated and we scattered some of his ashes at Bear Creek Dog Park in Colorado Springs and some were scattered at our cabin in the mountains where he liked to chase rabbits. His "dad" Steve made a memorial marker out of a piece of marble that we placed on a little rise near a pine tree where I would toss the frisbee for him. We visit this spot often, which looks out over the mountains, and tell Hector what a great dog he was.
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