I distinctly remember the first time I saw him. 13 years ago. Just a tiny little white furball with black spots. The cutest little dog ever, with a huge personality, even at 8 weeks old. He was laying on the blue couch in my living room in the house on N. Clinton. He was the runt of the litter that my roomate's girlfriend's dog had just whelped. She wanted to keep him, but she had just had foot surgery, and wouldn't be able to take care of an energetic puppy. I didn't really want a dog, but my girlfriend at the time fell in love with him then and there, so I caved.
He came with his share of problems. He was a puppy who loved to chew, as my roomate at the time, Mike, could attest to. He chewed the hell out of his dining room table and his pearl white Ibenez and some shoes here and there (never touched any of my stuff, though). When the girlfriend got an out of town gig and we split up, Funk stayed with me.
He had epilepsy, but it was manageable. In the later years, he had to take meds to make sure his urine didn't crystallize in his bladder. He also had to eat special (and damn expensive) food for the same reason. Over the years, he had some other medical problems, had a surgery or two, but I did what had to be done to keep my little buddy going strong.
He's been with me through everything over the past 13 years. You know how it goes - when times are tough, your dog is there for you, giving you unconditional love even when you feel like the entire world is against you.
For awhile now, he's had good days and bad days. On the bad days, he would go to the bathroom while laying on his bed and sleeping - just crap or pee or whatever. Then he would go a few days with no problems, and then he'd do it again. Or he would let it go on the floor in the kitchen. Not on purpose, not in anger, but because he had to go, he was old, and that was that. He had also been falling down a lot, especially outside on the patio, and had developed a couple of open wounds on his legs & butt that weren't healing because he kept falling on them and scraping them on the rough concrete outside. On Wednesday night, he had fallen when I let him out before I went to bed, and while he was laying there he shit, so his rear end / legs were covered in it. So, I gave him a quick bath before going to bed (he's had at least 3 baths a week lately because of this sort of thing). I had the worst time sleeping because I couldn't stop thinking of how hard of a time he was having, and knowing what I should do, which of course upset me quite a bit. I think maybe I got 3 hours. Then yesterday morning when he was let out, the same thing happened again. At that point, I just knew it was time. Gave him another quick bath, M said her tearful goodbyes, and I loaded him up for his last trip to the vet. I couldn't even talk when I got there. I just pointed to him with tears in my eyes, and they knew what was going on. I couldn't say my name when they asked so they could find his file - I just handed them my drivers license - I was a fucking mess. I didn't stop crying the entire time I was there. I couldn't go with them to the room where they were going to put him to sleep (they offered, but there was no way I could do it) so I just said my goodbyes in the exam room, took off his collar, and they led him away. He even licked the girl's face when she was putting the lead on him, and she said "Awww - you're such a sweet dog". That was the last thing I saw him do - lick the girl who was leading him to his end, because that's what kind of a dog he was - just a goodhearted, trusting, loving animal, and I fucking miss him.