If you'd like your Shar Pei to be remembered and tell your story here, email us with photos in .jpg format, thank you.

"Pillow"

(This is a copy of my Reddit post as I simply don't have the heart to type further).

Thursday the 11th of August, at approximately 12:37 UK time, you were six years and ten months when you died of kidney failure after courageously fighting CKD for a week and a half.

We got you what we thought were the best vets, and we hired the best experts around the globe. We prayed, we cried, we shouted, we begged. We slept only one hour a night to ensure that you were taken care of in the best possible way. We even brought you home so you could be with your brothers and play with your favorite toys. Mummy slept on the floor with you because you could no longer jump on the bed in the cat-like fashion that made you so different from the other dogs.

We were never naive: before we were lucky enough to bring you into our lives, we researched your kind thoroughly. We proudly displayed your A3 format family tree on the wall. We knew that you would not be easy to deal with and that this would NOT be a smooth ride. But you had 13 lives. Remember the day when you regurgitated out that 7 inches skewer, fakir-style? We even had to check the CCTV to understand how you could have stolen it from the barbecue.

You were never too keen on sharing "your" garden with your brothers from the shelter :-) And I lost count of the number of times you gave me your famous "side eye" because your suspiciousness was as adorable as it was harmless, just like your little "bites".

We got you from a reputable breeder, and we even put a stop to a few illegal operations by reporting them to the Council.

Of course, like all "Peis", you had chronic skin issues, so we massaged nose butter on you from day one and applied paw butter so that both were clean and pink even on the day you left us to doggie heaven.

You were given colchicine the same day you developed the first symptoms of FSF, which you gulped down with your favorite: peanut butter. It began late enough that we thought you'd zoom through it the way you zoomed through life.

You were with us at every single Christmas, everyone's birthdays, during our lows and highs, and, very importantly, despite your aloof appearance, you were always there to extend a friendly paw when work or life got too hard for us humans.

You are the last thing my mother drew before Alzheimer's took away her capacity to paint. She doesn't even know that you passed. It's better that way. We'll show her the pictures from last year, if she asks.

When they told me you stopped breathing, I was speechless for the first time in my life. I'm still speechless, but I'm not voiceless, and I will do my very best to promote awareness about familiar Sharpei fever on social media and beyond.

Rest in peace, Little Buddy. We love you.