About 8 years ago I met a dashingly handsome pit bull/boxer mix named Bubba. He hailed from North Carolina but his bark lacked any accent. He was born into poor dixie trash with his puppyhood spoiled by untold tales of abuse & neglect. Bubba found a new owner when he was about 21, someone he could trust and who would never let him go. He was a wonderfully behaved pooch, loyal, gentle and occasionally a little gassy.
Bubba had a roommate, a scottish terrier named Maxine. She was roughly a quarter of his size, but she ran shit like a General at Gettysburg. If she wanted to lay on the couch, he would have to get up and move. Maxine would always eat first. Any toy that Bubba was playing with at the time would instantly become hers if she desired it to be so. Being the elder, this bossy bitch took him under her wing...err...paw and taught him about true doggystyle.
Still, they were best friends, like Ponyboy & Johnny, R2D2 & C3PO, Kevin & Paul, Over time their living arrangement eventually blossomed into love. In their own little world of tugtoys, bellyrubs and outdoor defecation, they were everything to each other. They went on daily walks together, numerous car rides and many backyard excursions.
About a year ago, Maxine succumbed to old age. She lived a vibrant life but time caught up with her. Bubba was rendered desolate. He walked around his owners house for weeks trying to find her. Beneath the fur, he knew she was gone, but didn't want to admit it. At feeding time, he still gave leeway for Maxine to dine first, sitting back until his owner gave the OK. Bubba lost his appetite for everything he once enjoyed and the will to carry on alone.
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