Monthly Archives: October 2023

Bandit Achieves Our Retirement- Part IV

A Dog's Pathway to Retirement, A sense of place, animal behavior, Border collies, Creative Nonfiction, Dog Stories, Dogs and Humans- A Special Relationship October 26, 2023 1 Comment

This is the fourth blog piece in a series that features our first Border collie, Bandit, and is taken from an unpublished book titled The Bandit’s Gift. I wrote this manuscript which I suppose could be considered my practice book, shortly after retiring from my Neurology practice in Lubbock and moving to our ranch outside of Fredericksburg, Texas. The title of the book hints at our Bandit dog’s substantial role in bringing about our early retirement. Trudy and I feel indebted to Bandit for his efforts in hastening our move from a frenetic life in the city to the beauty and peacefulness of the Texas Hill Country.

This installment describes our migration from Lubbock to our ranch near Fredericksburg. It also introduces Mollie, a female Border collie, whom we acquired shortly before our move to the ranch. Mollie as a puppy came from a New Mexico ranch whereas Bandit had been raised a city dog in Lubbock.

                             Mollie our second Border collie who was from herding stock

In August of 2001, Trudy and I departed Lubbock for permanent retirement at our Fredericksburg ranch. Bandit and Mollie rode in the backseat nestled among hanging clothes and piles of shoes.  Mollie sat on the passenger’s side, Bandit on the driver’s side.  As Lubbock receded into the tabletop-flat landscape, Bandit cast what I considered a satisfied if not smug glance out the window for having brought about this major change in our lives.  I wondered how our canine conniver felt, as he had been a motivating force for my early retirement, mounting a determined campaign having nearly destroyed our home in Lubbock.

“Bandit, say good-bye to Lubbock.”

His long white tipped tail began slapping the back of the seat.

“Thump, thump, thump.”

“Trudy, that dog sounds like he’s beating a drum, am I imagining it or is Bandit celebrating?”

“Thump, thump, thump.”

                                                              Bandit looking so innocent

Mollie sat quietly in her corner of the backseat.  When I turned to scratch her chin, I noticed her peculiar smile.  When Mollie smiled, she retracted her lips and exposed her teeth.  Her eyes squinted and her face showed a broad dog smile- a smile sometimes misinterpreted as a snarl. I sensed that Mollie was happy, knowing we were leaving a city and headed permanently for a ranch.

Optimism and a sense of unburdening welled up within me.  My exhausted spirit for years had yearned for a saner, more private existence.  The long work hours, the stress of holding together a clinic and hospital practice, and the daily grind of dealing with desperately ill patients had extracted a physical and emotional toll from me.

While Trudy and I had worked well together, our communication styles differed.  For me, small talk has always proved difficult.  Give me a family with a brain-dead member, or the need to relate a terminal diagnosis, and I am at my rhetorical and sympathetic best.  But when at a social function calling for light banter, I feel like a stammering dolt.  Moreover, I suffer near stupefaction when faced with the usual social banalities.

Trudy on the other hand handles social situations with aplomb.  She can discuss grandchildren, the weather, the latest gossip, or pop-culture with the best of them.  She finds difficulty, though, when talking of emotionally laden topics, especially those affecting her or her family.  It was just such heavy topics that had for years nagged at the corners of my mind.

Trudy’s unhappiness and worry may have prompted verbal zingers aimed at a workaholic, slow to mobilize, and frequently absent husband.

“Remember that Surgeon in Medical Records, draped over his pile of charts like a bad suit of clothes, dead as Hamlet’s buddy, Yorik?  You’re not indestructible either Buster. I’m too young and gorgeous to be a widow.  Lots of young bucks have the hots for well off, sexy widows.”

“Yeah, rave on,” I had said, suspecting I had not deflected this conversation for long.

Later as I drove off the cap rock of the Llano Estacado and away from the loneliness of the high plains, I became lost in a tumble of conflicting questions and emotions. Long drives have always put me in pensive moods, providing uninterrupted time for contemplation. Memories began to tug at my sleeve.

Being a physician had been at the core of my identity.  I wondered how life would change without Medicine being my magnetic north.

Why am I ambivalent about leaving? Sure, I’ve loved Medicine- the intimacy that goes with caring for others.  Where’s the satisfaction gone? Had it been the hospital’s economic realities that at times impinged on the quality of clinical care I wished to give? Had this led to incessant medical upheavals?  Why had it been a struggle to maintain a successful group practice, run an efficient medical practice, and carry out good clinical care and research? Had I asked too much of myself as both a private practitioner and an academic?

After an initial scuffle in the backseat when Mollie tried to take Bandit’s usual place, the canines had calmed. Bandit circled and plopped down with an audible exhalation.  Long before we reached the cap rock, Bandit had fallen fast asleep.  Mollie rested her chin at the window and observed passing fence posts, her light blue eyes tracking and flicking from one to the next.

                                           Bandit on the left and Mollie on the right in profile

As the miles sped by, my mind shifted from labors left behind to this land’s history through which we passed which I began to recall. We headed southeast, counter to the migration of earlier settlers, toward what in 1800 had been the northernmost frontier of the Mexican State of Coahuila and Tejas.  Long before becoming a Mexican State, the land had been occupied by Tonkawa Indians who in turn gave way to the more warlike Apache, Kiowa, and Comanche.

Texas won its independence from Mexico in 1836 and became an independent republic.  In 1845 a proud but destitute Texas joined the United States of America as its 28th State.  The following year German immigrants arrived in the Hill Country to partake of free land and increased economic opportunities.

In Germany, the unwitting emigrants had been reassured the new land was peaceful, only on arrival to find themselves in their newly established village, surrounded by hostile Native Americans.  This grievous case of real estate exaggeration ranks just behind Eric the Red who named a frozen expanse of icecap, Greenland.

We traveled through Sweetwater, a small west Texas agricultural town with yet another unpretentious name.  I thought- did no one have imagination when giving names?! 

Bandit briefly awoke when we stopped at a red light in Sweetwater.  I felt his cold nose nudging my shoulder, urging my attention. I reached back and scratched his ears. The white tip of his tail (the so-called Shepherd’s Lantern) striking the back of my seat.

“Thump, thump, thump.”

Mollie glanced at her emotionally needy canine companion but quickly returned to watching the towns stream by.  I wondered if Mollie expected a meandering herd of sheep or scattered herd of cattle to appear in desperate need of a Border collie to organize them.

I thought how different these two dogs were in soliciting affection.  Bandit fawned on people, begging- even demanding attention. Mollie never stooped to such antics, although she appreciated affection when it was offered by a family member.

Mollie was a rare Border who loved to swim

After leaving the town behind, I heard Bandit again flop down in the back seat.  My own thoughts returned to the history of central Texas that still lay several hundred miles ahead.

German men from Fredericksburg led by their able leader John Meusebach, in a desperate gambit, ventured out of the relative safety of their new settlement to secure peace with the natives.  They successfully met up and powwowed for several weeks beside the San Saba River. After much talk, countless pipes, and no doubt many earnest, silent German prayers, a peace treaty was established with seven large tribes of natives.

This treaty, remarkably, over the years has remained intact. It is claimed to have been the only treaty in Texas, and possibly the entire United States, with Native Americans to have not been broken.  An annual Powwow of Native Americans and Fredericksburg citizens celebrated the success of the treaty for many years thereafter in Fredericksburg.

While the peace talks had dragged on alongside the San Saba River, other natives surrounded the village of Fredericksburg, awaiting news that would either prompt an attack on or befriend the hapless settlers. Huddled within their makeshift cabins, stoic German settlers tried to carry on their lives without projecting fear to their children.

On Easter eve night, bon fires ominously appeared on the many hills surrounding Fredericksburg. The German settlers worried these fires might signal an impending attack.  In truth the bon fires communicated to the Native Americans high in the hills around Fredericksburg that a peace treaty had been achieved at the Powwow on the San Saba River.

Initially the significance of the bon fires was unknown to the settlers, but the fires on Easter evening prompted one mother, full of bravado, to proclaim to her worried children that the Easter Bunny was building fires to boil their Easter eggs.  The brave spirit manifested by the unknown German mother inspired for many years the yearly Fredericksburg Easter fires tradition where bon fires were built each Easter eve on top of the hills surrounding Fredericksburg.

We motored across the Texas prairie where 150 years earlier the Apache had been driven by the still fiercer Comanche.  I recalled the struggle for control of the green hills and streams of central Texas.  With increasing distance from Lubbock, the table-flat, featureless, and bleak landscape gradually changed into rolling prairie dotted with tall prairie grasses, scraggly mesquite, cottonwood, and Juniper trees.

We traveled through Coleman to Santa Anna (named after a famous Penateka Comanche chief) where we turned south, passing by the ruts of the old Great Western Cattle Trail. A roadside historical sign informed that more cattle had passed up this cattle trail to Kansas than had occurred on any of the other Texas cattle trails.  The Western Cattle Trail ended in the wild western town of Dodge City where lawmen Bat Masterson and Wyatt Earp became famous and where Earp was finally laid to rest.

Some twenty million Longhorns had moved up the cattle trails following the Civil War, establishing a viable economy for a desperately poor Texas. I proudly recalled my great grandfather, Thaddeus Septimus Hutton, having been a Texas cowboy who had likely pushed cattle up this very trail through the Oklahoma territory to the rail head at Dodge City.  I pondered what it must have been like to herd cattle in the 1870s through wild country. Had he even a glimmer of the historic nature of the western life he lived and the fame that would be later accorded the lawmen of Dodge City.  Of one conclusion I felt certain, that more hard work and less adventure had existed on the cattle trail than was depicted later by Hollywood movies.

Several hours further on, the rolling prairie gave way to green hills, clumps of stately live oak trees, and cultivated green pastures.  Artesian spring fed streams and rivers snaked among the hills.  Wild game had been and remains prevalent, and the tall native grasses supported greater numbers of grazing animals than had the near barren Llano Estacado.

Looking at this dramatic transition in the land helped me to understand why the Native Americans believed the Hill Country possessed such “strong medicine.” The Texas Hill Country with its beauty and bounty favorably compares to the western, more arid portion of the State.  I thought no wonder Native Americans had fought so ferociously to maintain control of the Hill Country.

While I mulled these matters, Mollie, with remarkably sustained attention, continued to observe the changing landscape.  Once when passing an eighteen-wheeler, Mollie stood upright, staring at a black, ride along dog that stared back from the truck’s passenger window.  I could see the other dog barking. Mollie calmly observed the dog and gazed at the truck until it was lost to sight.

Bandit didn’t awake again until we arrived in Brady, the geographical center of Texas.  He awoke, stretched, yawned, and appeared to anticipate our arrival at the ranch.  I felt his chin on the back of my seat and sensed his warm, moist breath.  I could see in the rear view mirror that he had perked up his ears and was staring down the highway ahead of us.  When I reached to give Bandit a scratch, I was rewarded with several languid licks to the back of my hand.

    Mollie and Buddy at the ranch

“Thump, thump, thump.”

An hour and fifteen minutes later, we drove through the front gate of our ranch. I halted the car briefly, so that Trudy and I could exhale years of pent up tension.  Whimpers came from the backseat.  Trudy and I opened the back doors of the car.  Mollie leaped out and sped across the pasture, ears flattened to her head, back arching, and legs striding.  Bandit jumped out and loped behind Mollie, inspecting trees, clumps of grass, and rocks.  Mollie scared up a jackrabbit, and both collies began a deliriously happy, zigzagging pursuit, interrupted only finally by an impassable barbed wire fence.

Trudy and I joined hands and watched in peaceful silence; an interlude as pure as that between young lovers. We had parked on a caliche ranch road near a grove of live oak trees.   We wordlessly observed the rabbit chase and basked in the exuberance of the moment. Bandit and Mollie eventually strutted back to the car; tails held high.  The two dogs sniffed and scuffled and seemed to be thoroughly enjoying themselves.

From over my shoulder, an orange-red sunset beckoned above a white limestone ridge.  We heard the mellifluous sounds of water rushing over stones in a nearby brook.  I experienced a rare moment of awareness and understanding.  What had seemed confused a few hours earlier, in this tranquil setting, now seemed clearer, even achievable. I could feel a smile develop across my face.

“Welcome home Trudy.”

Trudy slowly turned her eyes to meet mine. I saw a loving smile, crinkled nose, and teary eyes.

“Didn’t think I’d get you out of Lubbock alive,” Trudy said with an uncharacteristic tremor in her voice.  Moments later her tendency to chide rallied and she said, “Besides Cowboy, why are you planted here like a stupid yucca, let’s get on with our new lives!”

Just as I leaned across the front seat of the car to kiss Trudy, from the backseat came Bandit’s black and white head. Trudy and I stopped just short of planting bookend kisses on his furry snout.  Trudy and I laughed, and Bandit cocked his head impishly as if understanding the joke.  Trudy and I were now retired, and with Bandit and Mollie, we were four.

to be continued

If you have not had the chance to read my latest book, Hitler’s Maladies and Their Impact on World War II: A Behavioral Neurologist’s View (Texas Tech University Press), I invite you to do so. The book explores an important aspect of the Hitler story and World War II that has not been well studied. Many of Hitler’s catastrophic errors including the premature invasion of the Soviet Union in June 1941, the slowness of German forces to counterattack at the Battle of Normandy in 1944, and the highly risky Battle of the Bulge in late 1944 into 1945, can be better understood, knowing the sizeable impact that Hitler’s physical and mental conditions had on these vital battles.

Also, consider picking up a copy of my earlier book, Carrying The Black Bag: A Neurologist’s Bedside Tales (Texas Tech University Press). Please join me on my personal journey as a physician and meet my patients whose reservoirs of courage, perseverance, and struggles to achieve balance for their disrupted lives provide the foundation for this book. But step closely, as often they speak with low and muffled voices, but voices that nonetheless ring loudly with humanity, love, and most of all, courage.

Bandit-Our First Border Collie-Part 3

animal behavior, Border collies, Creative Writing, dog behavior, Dog Stories, dogs October 8, 2023 Comments: 2

Thank you for continuing to follow the Bandit story. He proved to be my dog of a lifetime and as subsequent stories will show- changed our lives in meaningful ways.

Evening Trips to the Park

Neighborhood children frequently shadowed us during our trips to the local park. Neighbors often appeared at windows, observing Bandit’s effortless saunter along the sidewalk, pursued by his increasingly haggard looking owner.  Several, gave sympathetic words of encouragement to me as  might have  been offered to the final straggling runners in the Boston marathon.

Ignoring the local leash ordinance, assuming no doubt incorrectly, that voice control would suffice, we allowed Bandit to stride ahead, carrying a ball or Frisbee in his mouth.  He truly was under control, knowing to sit and wait at each corner, and never crossing a street without permission.  Nevertheless, I always felt relieved when I returned from the park without a citation from Lubbock Animal Control.

Once at the park with its smells of newly mowed grass and yellow glare of the lights, Bandit would become thoroughly engaged with our games. He would ignore the thwacking sounds of competing nearby tennis matches, giggling children on swing sets, and even other curious dogs that came around him.  The focused intensity of a Border collie is truly splendid to behold.  Bandit would take his crouch and stare at me, waiting for me to sling the ball.

With visions of Sandy Koufax or Mickey Mantle running through my head, I would rear back and throw tennis balls as far as possible.  I remember thinking a bit smugly that during high school I had possessed a good throwing arm.

Bandit would tear out after the ball, scoop it up while still rolling, and rapidly return it to me. Bandit seemed untiring. His alert, dark eyes would glisten, and he panted with excitement. After several weeks of pitching tennis balls, I was no longer feeling quite so smug about my ability to throw the ball, as I developed a painful arm strain.

Over several more days my arm worsened. It became so painful that I found it difficult to elevate it above my head.  After still more park excursions, it got to the point that I could not easily dress myself.  On more than one occasion, I had to ask Trudy to hold my shirt, so that I could slip my tender right arm into the sleeve.

She then suggested in her inimitable way, “Why not give up the Nolen Ryan bit and try tennis?”

Tennis Anyone

 Following Trudy’s practical suggestion, I began hitting balls with a tennis racket and soon marveled at the added distance this provided.  Hitting the tennis ball with a racket also drew upon a different set of muscles than throwing, so that I could swing the racket almost without pain. Bandit appeared not to care how I launched the ball, as he continued to pursue it with equal enthusiasm.

I enjoyed watching the yellow tennis ball explode off the racket and arc far across the park.  I marveled at the grace and speed of Bandit’s longer out runs. I also observed how Bandit then would drop the ball about three quarters of the way back to me and retreat some distance. The time it took for me to trot out and collect the ball provided Bandit time to prepare and adopt his vigilant stance. By this process, Bandit also imposed my own exercise routine.

Chasing the tennis ball caused Bandit to expend additional energy, leading me foolishly to believe we were at last making progress. But after weeks of hitting the ball, rather than Bandit showing any signs of exhaustion, I instead developed tennis elbow, no less painful than my previous shoulder strain. In short order, I was forced to retire from both doggie baseball and doggie tennis. Heck, I still have doggie kickball and doggie golf.

Unexpected Results

“Hey big guy, you’re not the jock I married thirty-five years ago,” Trudy teased. I responded without comment but likely with a pained smile.  Indeed, this collie had taken a heavy toll on my middle-aged, soft-bellied self and had allowed an opening for Trudy to proceed with friendly ribbing.

Despite the physical toll on me, the new regime of activities and exercise brought about improvement in Bandit’s behavior. Trudy and I, to our surprise, also noticed our own bodily changes.

“Hey Trudy, is the scale broken?” I asked one morning after a month or two of the exercise programs.

“Don’t think so, but I was surprised too when I weighed.”

Not only had we lost weight, but we were feeling more fit.  I found the morning jaunts to the park to be less exhausting than earlier and at times found myself even jogging alongside Bandit to and from the park.

Even more astonishing, our spirits had elevated. We began to laugh more. Life became more interesting. Trudy and I began to plan a date night weekly, something we had not enjoyed for many years. In short, we found ourselves with increased energy– energy that allowed us to better address sources of diminishing satisfaction within our lives.

Frisbee

Bandit and I began to spend more time together as well. It was during this period that I introduced Bandit to Frisbee. He absolutely loved it. Bandit took to Frisbee like a pregnant woman to cheesecake.  Soon he was snatching Frisbees out of mid-air like a lizard catching flies. He learned to make over-the-shoulder acrobatic catches amid his dramatic leaps. His performances began to pay dividends and in highly unexpected ways.

After several weeks, Bandit’s fame at retrieving Frisbees had spread throughout the neighborhood. Adults as well as children now began leaving their homes to walk with us to the park.  Cars would often slow down when passing the park, even parking at the curb to watch our graceful, athletic black and white dog snatch Frisbees out of the air.

One spring day I heard a shout from the street and looked up from our game of Frisbee. To my shock, I spotted half a dozen cars parked at the curb with still more pedestrians watching us. Many were total strangers, intently observing Bandit and acknowledging his athletic ability.

I would rear back and whip the Frisbee in a high gliding arc.  Bandit would sprint away toward the arcing Frisbee, leaping high into the air like a ballerina to snag the disc. Shouts would erupt from the throng following particularly agile catches.

“Hooray, just look at that dog.”

“Never seen anything like it.”

“What a dog!”

Friendly waves and smiles came from the spectators. I sensed these strangers, beaming and whooping support for our black and white ham, somehow benefited from the experience. Bandit put on amazing performances of running and jumping, and making acrobatic catches, but I questioned why his Frisbee catching attracted so much attention.

Occasionally people wandered onto the grassy field to inspect Bandit more closely.  When this happened, Bandit would break off his crouch and would wiggle up to them, swishing his tail in a wide and friendly arc. The momentum of his tail wags was such that they wagged his whole rear end.  He would lick any extended hand.

After more evening Frisbee sessions, I began to seriously ponder the reasons for Bandit’s enlarging audiences. It seemed to me that Bandit provided these city-churned commuters brief moments of joy between hectic work schedules and responsibilities awaiting them at home.  During these brief intervals his fans vicariously enjoyed Bandit’s unmitigated joy.

To Be Continued

If you have not had the chance to read my latest book, Hitler’s Maladies and Their Impact on World War II: A Behavioral Neurologist’s View (Texas Tech University Press), I invite you to do so. The book explores an important aspect of the Hitler story and World War II that has not been well studied. Many of Hitler’s catastrophic errors including the premature invasion of the Soviet Union in June 1941, the slowness of German forces to counterattack at the Battle of Normandy in 1944, and the highly risky Battle of the Bulge in late 1944 into 1945, can be better understood, knowing the sizeable impact that Hitler’s physical and mental conditions had on these vital battles.

Also, consider picking up a copy of my earlier book, Carrying The Black Bag: A Neurologist’s Bedside Tales (Texas Tech University Press). Please join me on my personal journey as a physician and meet my patients whose reservoirs of courage, perseverance, and struggles to achieve balance for their disrupted lives provide the foundation for this book. But step closely, as often they speak with low and muffled voices, but voices that nonetheless ring loudly with humanity, love, and most of all, courage.

Bandit-Our First Border Collie-Continued-Part 2

A Dog's Pathway to Retirement, animal behavior, Border collies, Creative Nonfiction, dog behavior, Dog Stories, Dogs and Humans- A Special Relationship, Dogs- A special Relationship October 1, 2023 Leave a comment

With Andy and Katie’s departures for college, it dawned on Trudy and me that we were in deep trouble. We immediately missed our college age children who had spent time walking the dog, taking Bandit on car rides, and teaching him tricks.

After the kids’ departures, changes in our busy schedules became necessary. Weather permitting on work days Trudy and I would leave Bandit in the fenced backyard. Evidence suggested that Bandit would scamper among the bushes leaving behind broken branches, chase about the patio knocking over furniture, swim in the fountain, topple the water plants, and amuse himself by digging impressive craters in the vegetable garden. The garden excavations  grew  deep enough for me to fantasize about Bandit striking oil and making us rich.

Our outdoor strategy, imperfect though it was, maintained the house in good shape, so long as we gave up any hope of flowers in the garden, vegetables in the garden plot, or legs on the patio furniture.

When autumn colors faded into the sparkle and ice of winter, compassion compelled us to move Bandit indoors to avoid the Texas Panhandle’s “Blue Northers”. This shift in tactic not only provided warmth for Bandit, but also offered him novel opportunities to explore. And “explore” he did.

A few chewed magazines and curtain tassels did not panic us– not two professionals who had successfully mastered screaming divorcees in the courtroom and grand mal seizures in the waiting room.

“Oh, just puppy behavior,” Trudy had said unconvincingly, as if whistling her way to a root canal.

“Of course,” I had opined,  “All dogs chew. Probably good for his baby teeth.”

The indoor move required that we travel home during the day to let him outside to pee. It also allowed a brief respite for playing with the dog. This interlude required Trudy or me to break away from the office, an office often bordering on chaos, replete with hormonal nurses, disgruntled patients, and self-important doctors.

The trips home provided a break for which Trudy and I soon competed. When possible, both of us would head home for lunch and Bandit play. This mid-day interlude, away from the escalating emotions in the office, allowed us most welcome quiet time for conversation and gave us an opportunity to amuse ourselves for a few minutes playing with an appreciative Bandit dog.

Worse Still

Despite our considerable efforts, Bandit escalated his destructive antics- big time.  If we thought we had seen a damaging dog before, we had been fooled, having witnessed merely the preliminary warm-up for a doggie demolition derby. Before we knew it, Bandit had started a whole new gig– home annihilation.

In short order the remainder of our chair legs developed signs of piranha-like gnawing. We found the cording that had mysteriously been separated from the furniture. To this day, I don’t have the foggiest notion  what happened to some of it. We found several electrical cords chewed, rugs macerated, and household objects broken, covered up, or rearranged.

“Bandit, you do this?” I asked, while pointing to a chair leg that looked, as if set upon by crazed beavers. I feared the chair would give away if someone were to sit on it.

Bandit cocked his head innocently to the left and flashed an endearing look, a look of such sincerity that I began to question my suspicions. One day on arriving home through the back door, I spotted Bandit in the den. Rather than his usual hell-bent-for leather charge toward me, he slunk away into our daughter Katie’s bedroom and hid under her bed.  As I entered the den, the reason became all too apparent.

Before me lay a blizzard of pillow stuffing. It covered the floor, hung from the lamps, and decorated the hearth.  The remainder of the pillowcase lay on the floor as flat as a flounder.  When I tracked down the canine conniver, I noticed a piece of stuffing still hanging from his impish mouth.

A few days later our anxieties zoomed into the stratosphere when we discovered Bandit had stripped off the wall covering in the day room and had managed to chew on several door jams and doors.

To understand the pain associated with Bandit’s latest act, its important to understand the significance that the wall covering held for Trudy and me.  To diminish the poor acoustics in the day room, we had applied fabric to the walls over a thick cotton batting.  The upholstered walls had been expensive to construct but a welcome redo to our family room that had echoed like the depths of Carlsbad Caverns.  Now before us our acoustical dampening  lay in tatters.  Our home sweet home had begun to look as if under attack by an army of demented squirrels, voracious termites, and a truculent rhinoceros or two.

“And he looks like such an angelic animal,” Trudy said dejectedly.

“Don’t let his elfin looks fool you.  This dog won’t be happy till we’re living in a heap of sawdust!”

We Fight Back

One effort we employed to occupy Bandit consisted of stuffing cheese or dog biscuits into toys that Trudy found at a local discount store. These clever playthings, no doubt invented by a similarly desperate fellow dog owner, had been advertised as requiring lengthy and determined manipulation before discharging their treats.

Trudy and I would spend thirty minutes each morning stuffing pieces of cheese or dog biscuits into these over hyped furniture and house savers.  Trudy and I bubbled with newfound confidence, assuming we had at last found a  method for diverting our one dog wrecking crew.

Unfortunately, our optimism faded quickly. The toys occupied our strong-minded dog for a fraction of the time advertised before discharging their delicacies.  Bandit was left with far too much unoccupied time with which to work. While this toy proved useful, it was not what we desperately needed.

Trudy and I would arise early and hide scores of these treat-baited toys throughout our house. After our departure for work evidence suggested that Bandit would scour the house for the toys, apparently play with them, and consume the treats.  I have always suspected that Bandit found, obtained, and ate the treats in less time than it took for us to load and hide them. While this tactic met with only limited success, it had the benefit of distracting Trudy and me in the mornings from instead pondering insolvable work concerns.

Increased Exercise

We then determined to increase Bandit’s exercise by walking him to an old buffalo wallow about a mile away that had been converted into a lighted City Park.  I can only imagine what early rising neighbors thought when catching a glimpse of two bedraggled people slow-trailing an energetic dog down the darkened and leafy streets of Lubbock.

Once within the shadowy park, I would throw progressively slobbery tennis balls for Bandit. Trudy and I would then dodge about into hiding places, trying to avoid running into trees and light posts, encouraging Bandit to find us before racing back to hide yet again.  We hoped to wear out what seemed to be an indefatigable canine. This tag-team process may have been successful in depleting Bandit’s energy level slightly, but it proved substantially more exhausting for Trudy and me.

In the evening, rain or shine, and after a busy day of rounds and consults, I would stumble-march Bandit to our local neighborhood Kastman park where I would again throw tennis balls until my arm gave out. This became a routine that Bandit would not allow me to forget. While I would have gladly given half my medical practice at times to remain in my comfortable recliner, Bandit’s whimpering and nudging could simply not be ignored.

When Bandit heard the rumbling of the garage door opening at the end of the day, he always began racing around the house in search of a ball. Upon my entering the house, he would run to me and crouch with a tennis ball in his mouth.  He would rest on his forelegs with rump raised, his eyes staring at me as if to say, “I’ve been waiting for you all day and finally it’s time.”

Having experienced Bandit’s piercing gaze on many occasions, I understand why sheep find the stare of a Border collie so motivating. I can with little effort summon very real sympathy for sheep.

Bandit Makes Friends

Bandit’s park evening outings became something of a neighborhood happening.  People in their yards would turn to watch man and dog head off for their daily excursion.  Once on a hot summer evening bedecked by a gorgeous orange and red sunset, I recall seeing a red-faced Mr. Jones, the undisputed neighborhood grump, descending his stepladder. He turned to face us, as we walked on the sidewalk by his yard.  Fearing the worst, I kept my head down.  Bandit, on the other hand, loped over wagging his tail and proceeded to apply an unhurried lick to the old grump’s hand.

Rather than a torrent of verbal abuse as was expected, Mr. Jones instead gestured in a friendly manner at me, as if he was beckoning to an old friend. He then astonished me even more by asking multiple questions about Bandit. I shared information about his breed, what he ate, and why we visited the park so regularly. Who would have guessed Mr. Jones would prove to be a dog lover.

After extracting Bandit from this unexpected but welcomed encounter, man and dog headed down the block toward the park.  When well out of earshot, I exclaimed to Bandit, “Well how’d you manage that?”   He strutted ahead, ears perked up and wagging his tail broadly, cocking his head around to give what seemed to me to be an enigmatic look.

To Be Continued

If you have not had the chance to read my latest book, Hitler’s Maladies and Their Impact on World War II: A Behavioral Neurologist’s View (Texas Tech University Press), I invite you to do so. The book explores an important aspect of the Hitler story and World War II that has not been well studied. Many of Hitler’s catastrophic errors including the premature invasion of the Soviet Union in June 1941, the slowness of German forces to counterattack at the Battle of Normandy in 1944, and the highly risky Battle of the Bulge in late 1944 into 1945, can be better understood, knowing the sizeable impact that Hitler’s physical and mental conditions had on these vital battles.

Also, consider picking up a copy of my earlier book, Carrying The Black Bag: A Neurologist’s Bedside Tales (Texas Tech University Press). Please join me on my personal journey as a physician and meet my patients whose reservoirs of courage, perseverance, and struggles to achieve balance for their disrupted lives provide the foundation for this book. But step closely, as often they speak with low and muffled voices, but voices that nonetheless ring loudly with humanity, love, and most of all, courage.