We always knew he had a weak heart and that one day, probably before we were ready, it would be the end. But what a big, beautiful, brave heart he had.

You see, Humphrey didn’t know anything was wrong with him. He charged forth on walks with all the energy and enthusiam of a young pup with nary a care in the world. Better, in fact, than his partner Higgins, who is built shorter and squatter and suffers from arthritic joints.

One day Humphrey was happily rolling around on the rug; the next, he was barely able to walk. The vet suspected IVDD (Intravertebral disc disease), which is sadly all too common in French bulldogs as well as Daschsunds due to their exaggerated anatomy. We hadn’t imagined that Humphrey would suffer from it. He was a bendy sort of dog, longer in the body than most bulldogs, and loved to stretch out for a belly rub on a lap, as in this pooch porn shot.

Humphrey got a bum deal with his heart. He was born with pulmonary stenosis, a too-small opening between his heart and his lungs, which meant not enough oxygen could get through. He also had a marked heart murmur.

But he got lucky with us. We chose Humphrey just after we adopted Higgins. Stefan drove to pick him from the breeder a few hours’ drive from us when we lived in Haute Savoie, France. He had a beautiful brindle coat and gorgeous bat ears. We loved him at first sight, and he got along well with his new ‘brother’ from another mother. They were only a month apart in age. We felt like we’d struck it rich.

Until the first vet appointment.

“Ah, we know all about that,” we told the vet, when he seemed concerned about Humphrey’s breathing. The noises, the digestion, the inability to stand the heat. Even the risk around water. We’d had five Frenchies in total; two of them could swim. The others just sank.

By the time they confirmed the heart malfunction, and said he may need to be on treatment his whole life, it was too late. He was already part of the family. We called the breeder to report the problem, who offered to take him back, but we couldn’t do it. We got a partial refund instead, and signed up for however long it would be.

The first few years were fine. He did so well with two daily walks and good care that we stopped the heart meds after awhile.

Humphrey did have one character flaw: being overly aggressive when meeting other dogs. On walks, he tended to snap instead of sniffing hello. He would also bite the hand that fed him if you weren’t careful and scuffle with Higgins at feeding time. And you had to lock him up when cleaning unless you wanted to do battle with the vacuum cleaner.

But these were manageable issues; we avoided other dogs on walks and learned to give him treats with a flat hand, the way you do with horses, to spare our fingers. We physically separated the two when we fed them, and twice a day we would witness the same ballet: Higgins wolfed his food down while Humphrey took his time. Higgins would then wait on the other side of the room until Humphrey issued a warning bark and backed off from his empty bowl. Then Higgins rushed over to check for leftovers while Humphrey went to check out the other dish.

“They like to lick each other’s bowls,” we’d explain to various pet sitters. The English speakers would nod, unsure whether to be shocked or amused given my French husband’s pronunciation of ‘bowls’.

“Well, those too,” I’d add with a grin. “I mean, they’re dogs, right?”

Other than that, Humphrey was an absolute cuddle bunny. He cared little for toys but he loved his hugs and once you started stroking him would not let you stop.

One day when he was several years old, Humphrey rushed up the stairs in the morning then hesitated in the doorway before falling over and passing out. He stiffened and cried out, then got up a moment later and went outside as usual. I knew it wasn’t a good sign. We were lucky enough to find a veterinary heart specialist in Geneva -- there are only two in Switzerland. I got him in for an appointment a few days later. It was summer, and Humphrey repeatedly swooned in the sweltering heat from the car to the vet’s office. I prepared myself for bad news.

The scan showed Humphrey’s heart worked surprisingly well despite the fainting episodes. The specialist prescribed three meds to be given twice a day in the hope of stabilizing the condition. It worked well, and the vet was optimistic if unwilling to commit to how long his heart would hold out.

He made it to eleven-and-a-half, a good life for a Frenchie. We’ll never know if it was the back pain that led to his weakening heart or if it would have happened anyway. But when we saw he wasn’t getting better, we decided it was time.

‘Crève-coeur’ is French for heartbreak. His was broken and now so are ours.

We are going to take special care of Higgins.