On our way back home from visiting Thomas the Train in Chattanooga, we stopped by to pick up the newest member of our family. He was wrinkled and cuddly and if you’d never been around English Bulldogs, you could easily mistake him for a member of the pig family.
A distant cousin maybe.
Little Buddy insists on our three hour drive home that the puppy already loved him and wanted to sit with him. With his blankets all snuggled around him, our nearly three year old son protected our new puppy as if he were made of the finest crystal and might break at any moment.
Nuzzling him from time to time while he continually talked to him like a small friend. Like he was his baby even.
We decided on the name Bubba. It was Little Buddy’s choice as much as anyone’s, I remember. A name the small puppy would later grow into. His personality one of determination and love.
Growing up with a little boy can’t be easy on a dog, but Bubba certainly didn’t seem to mind. Lumbering with his short stocky legs after a faster, more active boy seemed to be his favorite pastime in the beginning. Quickly followed by simply moving his head to watch Little Buddy whiz past him on his bike.
Climbing on the mule to ride with my husband and son to check on the farm became an afternoon tradition. Bubba being the ruler of the roost, overseeing all of the other animals, seeming to make sure to let them know on a daily basis of his presence and his place in the family.
His love of riding didn’t stop with the mule. If you stopped a car and left your car door cracked just a bit, Bubba would use his flat snout to wedge the door wide enough to sneak his way into the car – thinking he might be able to catch a ride for just a bit. And proceeding to grunt and snort at us as we try to coax him out knowing we’ll finally have to just pick him up to get him out of the car.
Some say that dogs are man’s best friend. I tend to agree with them.
To my sweet, adorable, ornery Bubba – we will miss you sweet friend.
Rest in Peace.