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Friday, Sep. 18, 2009

Pals help celebrate Bubba

A few weeks ago, I received an invitation to “Bubba’s Bash.”

No, it wasn’t a birthday, graduation or anniversary.

Angia Meadows called it a “celebration of his life.’’

Bubba doesn’t move his head as quickly as he once did. His step has slowed. He has just three good legs to stand on. He’s a different kind of party animal. After all, he is a dog.

“Bubba is terminally ill and won’t be with us much longer,’’ Angia wrote in the invitation. “I can’t think of a better way to make his final days happy than to allow his spirit to reconnect with all those he loves.’’

Several of Bubba’s furry friends showed up for the afternoon at the Ocmulgee National Monument. Everyone was urged to bring a picnic lunch. Water was provided.

Although Bubba only has one good eye, he didn’t need “collar ID” to identify most of his canine pals.

Hershey, Lacy and Dixie were there. So was Isaac, Kali, Amy and Chance.

They all served together as “therapy dogs.”

Bubba is a 120-pound bull mastiff, and at least 113 pounds of that is pure heart.

He is a professional tail wagger. He has made a career of spreading cheer.

For five years, he participated in a local therapy dog program, making at least a dozen trips every month to hospitals, rehabilitation centers, nursing homes and assisted living facilities.

At The Children’s Hospital, he often would hop in a chair so young patients could see the character lines on his face and scratch him behind his ears.

He visited vets at the Georgia War Veterans Home in Milledgeville. He was a special guest at Paws for Reading at Byron Elementary. He listened to first-graders read their stories.

During the holidays, Angia would dress him up as Santa Claus. At Halloween, he was Darth Vader.

He once won a costume contest for pets at the Cherry Blossom Festival. He donned a sombrero and a serape to edge out a goat with pink horns and a duck wearing a straw hat.

One of his more famous moments was barking “Take Me Out to the Ball Game” during the seventh-inning stretch at a Macon Music baseball game two years ago.

Before he was a therapy dog, he was a “rescue” dog. In June 2001, Angia adopted him from an animal shelter in Thomaston an hour before he was scheduled to be euthanized. He was about 18 months old.

At first, she and her son called him Sasquatch for Bigfoot. Then they switched to Bubba, which sounded more Southern.

“I rescued him, but it would probably be more accurate to say he rescued me,’’ Angia said. “He ignited a passion. He has given my life new meaning. I don’t know anything about what his life was like before he came to me. I just believe it was destiny. He has had a good life. He has had a purpose.’’

And now he is approaching the end. He is about 70 in dog years. He has cancer, a torn ACL and a skin disorder. Angia is grateful “Bubba’s Bash” turned out to be a celebration instead of a memorial service.

It has been said all dogs go to heaven.

I’m not sure about that.

I just know this one will.

Reach Gris at 744-4275.