I agreed to be Bubba's foster mother for "two weeks" needless to say he stayed for the rest of his life. Bubba made me a better person(that's what my sister says) I couldn't believe that I was a dog owner. I didn't even like dogs very much! He had this crazy look in his eyes and I guess I was a little afraid of him. He was funny looking and smelly(even after a bath)He became my everything. He was my constant companion. He was my hiking buddy. We ate and slept together. He spoke to me and helped calm me in troubled times. He was loyal and faithful and thought I was "all that" He left me far too soon. I lost my best friend. The last three days of his life were so traumatic. I felt like I lost the ability to communicate with him. I second guessed myself and every decision that i made. I knew he was suffering but I didn't know what to do. When I picked him up at the animal hospital I knew that he was no longer my "Bubba" he was a different dog. He had brain damage and couldn't stand on his own. When Jerry and I would lift him up on his feet he would walk into the corners of the room or try to force his head in between or under things. It was as if he had the worlds worst headache and wanted to force it out. He didn't really sleep that night. He cried and made strange sounds. And he broke my heart. I was powerless to help my once powerful dog. The dog that would have given his life for me. I felt like I let him down. He needed my help and I could do NOTHING. He was so large(97lbs) so hard to handle. So desperate for help that never came. When we took him back to the animal hospital they wheeled him out on a gurney. They covered him in a beautiful blanket. He was calm as if he knew what was about to happen. As if he realized that his only relief from his agony was to go to the land of eternal sleep. I folded my whole upper body around him. I wanted him to feel my whole body weight for one last time. I whispered to him that I loved him dearly. I told him that I would be ok and that he need not worry about me. I gave him permission to go. And in one last precious gift...in a moment that I will carry with me forever....he lifted his head and kissed my face. For the first time in two days I felt his wet tongue. He recognized me. He loved me. He was prepared to forgive any mistakes that I had made. After his heart stopped beating the technician left the room. I watched over him in disbelief. Is this my dead dog? How did we go from hiking and playing and loving to death? How did all this happen in three days? It's been a year now. He's buried in the back yard. My sister says that she envisioned him. She's convinced that he's waiting for me. Sometimes I speak to him but I've stopped expecting him to answer. I hope that anyone reading this will be inspired to adopt that funny-looking dog that waits for a home. Don't be afraid to try it. Even just for two weeks!