The Legendary Texas Longhorns

History of Longhorns, Longhorn Characteristics, Longhorns, Origin of Longhorns, Texas History, Texas Legends April 27, 2024 1 Comment

Nothing in Texas is more iconic than Longhorn cattle.  The Longhorn even has its own folklore. In Native American cultures the Longhorn represents a symbol of good luck and spiritual guidance. While in Spanish culture, the Longhorn represents power, resilience, and strength. For Texans it is simply the basis upon which the State economy was built post-Civil War and to this day the Longhorn remains a treasured Texas icon.

Below is a stock image of Longhorns. Not my picture.

Yet where did the Longhorn come from? With its long horns it looks nothing like the European cattle breeds. And as any Longhorn rancher knows, it acts differently. The Longhorn is smarter, heartier, can better find forage and water, and is more disease resistant than other popular cattle breeds.

Origin and History of the Texas Longhorn

According to Dr. David Hillis, author of Armadillos To Ziziphus and the Director of the Biodiversity Center at the University of Texas at Austin, cattle likely arose from aurochs about 10,000 years ago and in two different parts of Eurasia; one being in the Middle East, and the second in the subcontinent of India. From there domesticated cattle spread to Africa and eventually via the Moorish invasion to Spain.

Christopher Columbus, on his second voyage to the New World in 1793 and intending to establish a colony in Hispaniola, stopped by the Canary Islands where he purchased pregnant heifers. The cattle  thrived in Hispaniola. By the early 1500s the Spanish explorers took descendants from these original cattle to Veracruz on the Gulf Coast. As the Spanish explored Mexico, they took along cattle for food, but many animals escaped or were released into the wild.

The countryside at the time had large and dangerous predators including bears, coyotes, and mountain lions. In an evolutionary act that warms this prior college zoology major’s heart, the strongest feral cattle with the longer horns survived better and bred. Over many generations of survivors and through the process of natural selection, the sturdy, fiercely protective Longhorn that we now recognize came into its own. With its longer horns it was able to defend its calves from predators, fight for dominance in the herd, survive in the wild and even flourish. Eventually vast herds of Longhorn cattle roamed what became in 1836 the the independent country of Texas and later in 1845, the State of Texas. Literally millions of feral Longhorns roamed the broad prairies of the State of Texas.

In the 1870s and 1880s vast cattle roundups and cattle drives began in south Texas, passed through the Texas Hill Country said to be the greatest cattle raising area in the world, and on through Texas and Oklahoma to the railroad depots in Kansas. The Great Western Trail saw at least two million Longhorns arriving in Kansas from where they were transported east to feed a hungry nation and to supply tallow for candles, the primary source for light at night.

Along with establishing the economy of an impoverished State, this era introduced Cowboy culture and the era often portrayed by the westerns in cinema. This author’s great grandfather, Thaddeus (Thad) Septimus Hutton worked as a cowboy and lived near Seymour, Texas alongside the Great Western Trail. It is likely that Thad Hutton in addition to working on a ranch, also rode up the trail to Dodge City where he would have interacted with the likes of Wild Bill Hitchcock, Doc Holiday, Wyatt Earp and other notable Dodge City legends.

Below are the Legendary Texas  Cattle Drives

By the 1900s Longhorns were deemed less desirable than the European breeds that yielded more beef per animal. The era of the Longhorn had passed into history and the Longhorn came close to extinction. The western writer, J. Frank Dobie along with the oilman, Sid Richardson and various nostalgic ranchers began to preserve the breed. Charles Schreiner III, a Hill Country rancher, is best known locally for his great efforts in preserving the Longhorn breed. In 1941 a State herd of Longhorns was established and now reside both in various State parks and on private ranches.

It seemed only appropriate that the first cattle we brought to our Medicine Spirit ranch were Longhorns.  The lone survivor now serves principally as pasture art whereas the calves from Black Baldys (a specific mixture of Angus and Hereford) crossed with Charolais are more prized by market forces and are the principal stock on our ranch.

Why We Love Longhorns

Longhorns in addition to their distinctive long horns also are remarkable for their coloration. No other breed has as many different colors as Longhorns including white, brindled blacks and reds, multi-colored roans, yellow linebacks, or everything in between.

J. Frank Dobie wrote in his book, The Longhorns, “Next to the horns…the most striking quality in appearance of the Texas cattle was their coloration. It is incorrect to say that they represented all the colors of the rainbow. Their colors were more varied than those of the rainbow.”

Texas Longhorns look different from other breeds and act differently as well. They possess a sense of pride with their heads held high and the males even demonstrate a swagger. They possess a wiliness not often associated with bovines. The calves are small at birth but grow rapidly. Their muscles strengthen, and they show a sense of of self-confidence not often observed in other breeds. Despite their long horns, the Longhorns are typically gentle. We often hand have fed our Longhorns, something not often possible with many of our Black Baldys.

The Longhorns are easy breeding due to having a larger pelvic outlet than other cattle breeds. Often first time heifers of other breeds are bred with a Longhorn bull because of this easy calving trait received from the Longhorn bull. Longhorns in our experience become the alpha cow in a mixed herd and have a distinct knack for leading the herd to a water source and to the best grazing. In addition to their smarts, the Longhorns are largely disease resistant, saving on vet bills.

In Conclusion

In tribute to this Texas icon, the Longhorn occupies a warm spot in the hearts of Texans. The horns from our first Longhorn now hang proudly in my study where I admire and recall her long life and many feats. Her name was Bell Pepper, and her daughter was named Cinnamon. The thought behind the names was that they “spiced up” our ranch. Indeed they did along with bringing with them a strong sense of proud Texas nostalgia.

Two Black Baldy cows with their calves

Bell on the left and her daughter, Cinnamon along with their human admirers

Live Oak Trees- Take a Bow

Iconic Trees, Live Oak trees, Reasons for diversity of Flora in the T exas Hill Country March 2, 2024 1 Comment

Bella off to check a Live Oak tree

The magnificent Live Oak trees in the Texas Hill Country are unique and beloved by residents and visitors alike. They vary in several ways from the clustered, closed-canopy, taller Oak trees found in the eastern part of the U.S.A. Just like many other aspects of Texas, our Live Oak Trees really are different.

Unusual shapes caused by severe weather, injury, and sun seeking (phototrophism)

To start with the form of our Live Oaks is broader and shorter than Oak Trees found elsewhere in the country. The thin, rocky soil of the Texas Hill Country along with frequent droughts give rise to this distinctive shape. These characteristics require the trees to have reduced height so that the limited water can be drawn up and into their leaves. Live Oaks spread out in a broad fashion, making drawing water much easier and with their gnarly limbs bending close to the ground, as if bowing in reverence to a demanding Mother Nature.

An Live Oak tree hundreds of years old that lost many of its limbs during the 2021 Ice Storm Uri and has yet to completely fill out its canopy

Live Oak trees are extremely drought tolerant. Even their small, thick leaves differ and for good reason from the large five or six lobed Oak leaves found elsewhere. Our Live Oak trees are also less clustered than eastern Oak trees, making the abundant sunlight even more available and the process of photosynthesis easier.

The Live Oak leaves are smaller, thicker, and stiffer. These adaptations help the tree to survive in its dry environment. As might be expected the largest Live Oaks are found in the valleys where the soil is thicker and groundwater more available.

Live Oak trees are always green. During March the leaves turn a yellowish green color and are pushed off by new leaves. Along with the Juniper tree, referred to locally as cedar, the Live Oak is always green.

During the wettest years Live Oak trees drop large numbers of acorns. The abundant acorns provide food for deer, feral pigs, and squirrels but must be buried in order to take root and grow into a tree. Squirrels bury large numbers of acorns, some of which are never retrieved. Serial wet years are necessary for a Live Oak sapling to sprout, making the likelihood of new Live Oak trees unlikely. The existing old trees are especially dear; some of which date  to before the European explorers first roamed through this area.

This Live Oak either had its main trunk cut off during the 1950s severe drought or else lost it to weather, leaving an unusual shape for the tree

A close up view showing the original trunk

These mighty trees demonstrate amazing staying power and a floral grit. The striking temperature differences with single digit cold temperatures and blazing hot summers require it.

The great size and twisted trunks of Live Oaks never cease to create in me a sense of awe and wonderment. Live Oak trees are truly iconic to the Texas Hill Country and add further diversity to the flora and fauna of this region.

For those wishing to read more about the diversity of the Texas Hill Country may I suggest Armadillos To Ziziphus, by David M. Hillis. Dr. Hillis is a renowned biologist whose ranch, aptly named The Double Helix, teaches at the University of Texas at Austin. His book is chocked with wonderful insights about the incredible diversity of the Hill Country and is a great read.

If you haven’t had a chance to pick up a copy of my recent book, Hitler’s Maladies and Their Impact on World War II, I hope you will do so. Hitler’s poor physical and mental health provides insights into his diminished performance during the latter years of World War II but in no way mitigates his evil ways. Also my earlier book, Carrying The Black Bag: A Neurologist’s Bedside Tales remains available. Both books can be obtained from your favorite bookstore, the publisher, or the author at jthomas_hutton@yahoo.com.

Cholera Epidemic Struck Fredericksburg, Texas in 1848-50

Cholera Epidemic of 1848-50, Cooperation Between Frontier Fort Martin Scott and Fredericksburg emigrants, Fort Martin Scott, Impact of Cholera on newly founded Fredericksburg, TX February 25, 2024 Leave a comment

   The 175th anniversary of the founding of Fort Martin Scott will be celebrated next month. This anniversary and the relationship between the frontier fort and Fredericksburg will be described in an upcoming issue of our local newspaper. I wrote the following article for the newspaper that describes the horrendous cholera epidemic that befell Fredericksburg and its impact on our struggling community.

 

The 19th century’s third and worst cholera pandemic, having already killed millions of people world-wide, struck the fledgling town of Fredericksburg and the recently activated Fort Martin Scott in 1848-49. The obituary of Captain (and brevet Major) Collinson R. Gates, the post commander of Fort Martin Scott, reported a raging epidemic of cholera in Fredericksburg, where 30 people had already died. Gates was initially buried at the post cemetery, two miles south of Fredericksburg, and his body was later moved to the post cemetery at Fort Columbus on Governors Island in New York Harbor. It must have been quite expensive for his family to have his remains moved from the Texas frontier to New York City. Surprisingly, Gates was the only person at Fort Martin Scott to die during that cholera epidemic.


It was not understood in the mid-1800s that cholera (also known at the time as the blue plague) was largely a water-borne illness and resulted from poor sanitation. Whereas Fort Martin Scott lay two miles downstream from Fredericksburg on the west bank of Baron’s Creek and from which the soldiers (and many townspeople) obtained their contaminated drinking water, the question arises as to why more soldiers did not die of the deadly disease. The soldiers’ improved fortune at Fort Martin Scott likely resulted from prior immunity developed after cholera had swept through their ranks in December 1848, causing 127 deaths shortly after they landed at Port Lavaca and prior to their transfer to Fort Martin Scott.


Other inhabitants in the area proved not so fortunate. Large but unknown numbers of German settlers succumbed to cholera, as did over 300 Penateka Comanche, the largest of the Comanche tribes. These fatalities included Chief Santana (also called Santa Anna) who, following the Meusebach/Comanche Treaty of May 9, 1847, had befriended the struggling immigrants. Santana’s death severed a vital link between the German immigrants and the Comanche, and the decimated Penateka band disintegrated, with the surviving members joining other Comanche groups.


Additional deaths from cholera occurred in the nearby approximately 200-person Mormon colony of Zodiac, established in 1847 and led by Elder Lyman Wight. The colony, which may have lost up to half its inhabitants to cholera, was located four miles south and downstream of Fredericksburg on the Pedernales River. This severe cholera epidemic, along with political differences with the German immigrants and a spring flood that destroyed the Mormon’s grist mill and many of their homes, prompted the colony’s departure in 1853.


Deaths in San Antonio were even higher, with one-fifth of the city’s population dying within three months. At one point, 25 people in that town were dying every day. Among them was Major General William J. Worth, the commanding general of all U.S. Army units in Texas and the man after whom the city of Fort Worth was named.


While the German immigrants and American soldiers often could not comprehend each other’s language, cooperation nevertheless existed between the two groups. With the arrival of the fort in 1848 came a much-needed infusion of dollars, especially for the German craftsmen and teamsters. Profitable trade also sprung up as the Germans by then were able to provide wood, meat, corn, hay, and other farm produce. In return, the fort provided wages along with sugar and coffee. The soldiers also did everything they could to protect the settlers from horse thieves and other depredations by Native Americans who didn’t feel bound by the existing peace treaty.


For most of the 19th century, cholera was believed to be due to miasma. This quaint medical theory held that cholera resulted from “bad air,” following exposure to filth and decay. It was not until 1855 that John Snow in London demonstrated that contaminated drinking water transmitted the disease. He did so by mapping the location of the cholera cases and their proximity to a water pump on Broad Street (now Broadwick Street). His advocacy led authorities to remove the pump handle, which then limited the outbreak. It was not until 1883 that Robert Koch identified the cholera bacillus (Vibrio cholera) as the infectious agent.


Lacking an understanding of the cause of the disease and its transmission, ineffective treatment of cholera existed in Texas in the mid-1800s. It consisted of bed rest, warm drinks, camphorated alcohol, pepper, cologne, bloodletting and administration of opium (laudanum). The constipating effect of opium slowed the diarrhea, but did nothing for the underlying infection that led to dehydration, electrolyte abnormalities, shock, and rapid death.


At the time, lacking scientific understanding of the disease, attempts at spiritual healing were prevalent. From the pulpits of the many churches in Fredericksburg came spirited appeals for avoidance of sinful ways and prayer for the prevention and cure of the dreaded and often fatal malady.


Between 1846 and 1860, cholera spread from Asia to Europe and then to North America. Cholera may have arrived stateside with Irish immigration. Cholera likely spread to Texas from New Orleans. Also, cross-country travel in the U.S., following the discovery of gold in January 1848, likely hastened the spread of the pandemic westward. The Upper Immigrant Road led northwest out of San Antonio, through Fredericksburg, and on to El Paso. Fredericksburg and the Zodiac communities were, at the time, the last vestige of civilization for the wagon trains that were full of prospectors heading west for the California gold fields. Given that these frontier communities were the gathering point for the ‘49ers, the chances for local spread of the illness were good.


One example of how the German immigrants and soldiers cooperated for medical purposes can be recalled that benefited an injured German man. The local man had accidentally shot himself in the leg and required amputation of his injured extremity. The practice of anesthesia at the time was in its infancy, but had recently made its arrival at the fort. Under ether anesthesia, the German underwent amputation, performed by the Post Surgeon and with considerably less discomfort than otherwise would have been the case.


In general, relations between the Germans and the soldiers at Fort Martin Scott were cordial and mutually beneficial. Many soldiers identified with the struggling German immigrants and their many hardships, including hunger, poverty and disease. The two groups needed each other and provided mutual economic benefit and moral support.


Also given the harshness of life on the Texas frontier, a mutual respect and appreciation existed that allowed the struggling town and the frontier fort to grow, prosper, and survive during extremely challenging times. Through such struggle came well-deserved admiration and cooperation between the town and fort.

If you haven’t had the chance to read my most recent book, Hitler’s Maladies and Their Impact on World War II, I hope you will pick up a copy. It can be purchased from Amazon or your favorite local bookstore. Likewise my earlier book, Carrying The Black Bag: A Neurologist’s Bedside Tales recounts the challenges, humor, and courage of people struggling to right their lives in the face of neurological disease.

A Sad Day at the Ranch

animal behavior, Animals on the ranch, Border collies February 4, 2024 Comments: 4

Over the years I have expressed moments of great joy at Medicine Spirit Ranch and a few instances of deep sadness. Today, I express the latter. Beau our young Border collie who had such great promise as a herder and with whom we fell in love over his antics, is leaving us.

Beau showing off his star form after making a Purina One Commercial

You see, Beau began to pick up the bad habit of biting not only our old and virtually blind Bella, but also Trudy and me. Trudy sustained a wound to her hand that required five stitches while I have received too many bites to count. Yesterday he sank his teeth deeply into the fleshy part of my right hand. I bled extensively and it was quite painful. His biting is getting worse and increasing in frequency.

Why Beau enters into a blind rage that leads to his biting, is difficult to say. In part he will growl to protect his food, his toys, and even his people. Resource protection is not all that unusual. But at other times he curls his lip, growls, and attacks ferociously because he is willful to keep his position in the truck or because he demands to chase cows or horses or for other reasons known only to him. His enthusiasm is welcomed, but his rage and serious biting are intolerable. It is as if he has a screw loose.

Beau has been through obedience school. Other than a single instance in which he growled at another dog, Beau proved the star of his class. No great surprise as Border collies usually are the stars in obedience class. We also have been working with a wonderful dog trainer. For the longest time, Beau hid his aggressive tendencies from her but last week his rage showed forth in front of the dog trainer. Yvonne, the dog trainer, was taken aback. She now says that she fears Beau and tells us his behavior will likely only worsen. She advised we contact Beau’s breeder and ask if similar examples exist in their other dogs and whether she would take him back.

The breeder shared that no other examples of such aggressive behavior have occurred among her dogs. The breeder agreed to take Beau back. The alternative for us was to put Beau down, a move that I cannot yet carry out. We know the breeder likely will see similar bad behavior and that Beau has only a small chance of living much longer. We are heartbroken.

I don’t recall any of our Border collies having as much instinct for herding as Beau. Likewise, I’ve never seen any of our prior four Border collies become aggressive or bite.

Trudy and I feel like dog rearing failures. We’ve done everything our veterinarian and dog trainer have advised. Beau was neutered without any appreciable change in his behavior. Doggie downers have been ruled out by our vet. We have worked extensively with him on his decorum and on various types of training. He is well cared for and never abused. He is deeply loved. So why the rare but very real aggression?

I would not be able to live with myself if Beau were to bite a child or another person. I feel we have no good options left.

The breeder has a number of Border collies and a large working cattle ranch. Perhaps, just perhaps a change of environment will bring about a favorable change in Beau’s behavior. He will become an outside dog living much of his time in a dog run. Will this extend his life? Well, I can hope…

This evening we make the transfer. My nearly constant ranch companion for the last year will leave us and take with him a little of my heart.

A Unique Marriage Occurs at Medicine Spirit Ranch

A Texas Wedding January 22, 2024 1 Comment

Although we have been honored previously with several marriages taking place in the barn at our ranch, never before have we had one performed on a hill overlooking Live Oak Valley. The fact that the groom, Colonel Tom Norris, is my best friend and his bride, Danese Dunaway who has become a close friend, made the occasion truly special.

Tom and Danese

Tom and Danese first met when I was driving Danese and my daughter’s mother in law and Danese’s best friend, Pam O’Neal, around our ranch. We drove through Tom Norris’ ranch and found him working on his property and stopped for a brief introduction and chat. Later that afternoon we invited Tom to drop by our house for Happy Hour at which time he and Danese struck up a lively, largely two person conversation. As they say, the rest is history.

Two years later Tom and Danese asked if they could have their wedding on our ranch where they had  spent much time exploring in Tom’s ATV, a John Deere Gator, and enjoying many lovely Texas sunsets. Trudy and I were thrilled by their asking.

For both Tom and Danese this marriage was late in life. Danese had been divorced for over twenty years, was fully independent and happy. Tom had tragically lost his wife to illness about three years earlier and had suffered through tremendous grief only to accidentally find a new and beautiful life with Danese who redirected his emotions to a much happier state.

From left to right, yours truly, Colonel Tom, Danese, Pam O’Neal, and Bruce O’Neal (all photos courtesy of Trudy Hutton)

Tom and Danese chose to have a private ceremony with the Reverend Bruce O’Neal officiating, Pam O’Neal as matron of honor, Trudy as photographer, and me as best man. They wanted to be married on a hill I’d named LOV Lookout (LOV is taken from Live Oak Valley) or as the original Germans referred to these hills (as well as Danese) as mountains, hence, LOV Mountain. They chose late afternoon for the ceremony when the light is softer and appears magical followed by the traditional cake cutting, champagne toasts, and finally with the end of day being blessed by a Texas sunset.

Cake cutting taking place in the back of a Gator

 

Rings exchanged

 

Champagne toasts and laughter

 

The bride and groom standing at ranch entrance

 

Colonel and Mrs. Norris departing the ceremony in their John Deere Gator

While Trudy and I may be a bit prejudiced, we believe this was the most unique and joyful wedding we have attended. Congratulations Tom and Best Wishes Danese. We are so glad you found each other and thanks for sharing your excitement and happy times with us.

Origins, Behavior, and Myths of Paint Horses

Behavior of Paint Horses, Paint Horse Origin Lore and Myth, quotations about horses, Symbol Interpretation of Painted Horses January 6, 2024 1 Comment

Having a Paint Horse, the typical Indian pony, on Medicine Spirit Ranch seems highly appropriate. Native Americans believed that Paint Horses would protect them from death or injury during a conflict. Paints were deemed to have magical properties especially those with “medicine hat” markings.

Meet Fancy–

Fancy, our filly Paint horse

We bought Fancy, our Paint Horse, from a riding stable where my granddaughter Ramsey had learned to ride. Fancy was a gentle riding horse that Ramsey loved so that when the opportunity arose, we purchased her for our ranch. Fancy like other Paint horses is gentle, intelligent, and has a good temperament. Paints are valuable on ranches for riding, roping, racing, jumping, and stock work. These versatile horses will do about whatever its rider wishes, making its flexibility and good nature valued traits for ranch work.

The question arises as to where did paint horses come from? In the 1500s the Spanish Conquistadors brought horses to the New World. The predecessors of the Paint Horse were likely Barb, Andalusian, and Arabian breeds and sported distinctive spotted and two tone coloration. Inevitably, some of the horses escaped, bred, and dramatically increased in number. Large herds ranged the prairies for many years before Native Americans learned to capture, train, and utilize the horses for hunting and warfare. A mounted Native American warrior proved an intimidating and effective opponent such that the Comanche, Kiowa, and Apache all became excellent horsemen and the dominant Indian tribes in Texas.

The terms Paint and Pinto are often used interchangeably but technically Paint refers to the breed and Pinto to its color. Fancy is black and white but many different colors may be found in Paints including brown, bay, or red. Fancy is Tobiano, meaning two colors, and because she is black and white referred to as a Piebald Paint horse.

What is there about a Paint Horse That Makes Them Special?

As noted above Paint Horses with “medicine hat” markings were especially deemed to have magical properties. These horses have predominantly white heads with pink noses and mouths, and blue eyes. No, our Fancy does not have a “medicine hat.” Below are two examples of a filly Paint Horse and her foal, both of whom have “medicine hats.”

While descended from the same stock as quarter horses, Paint Horses have their own registry, the American Paint Horse Registry. This separate registry connotes a special status for the breed. Due to the popularity of the Paint Horse breed, the APHR has now grown to be the second largest equine registry. These smart and versatile horses are well muscled, beautiful, colorful, and in high demand.

Native Americans, in addition to the magical properties they saw in Paint Horses, also chose to paint designs on their horses, providing even greater protection and boast of the warrior’s prowess. Painting a warhorse for a battle or hunt was a sacred act that held power, not only in the Paints made from Nature, but also those with painted symbols as well. The act of painting a horse was viewed as serious business, as it could mean life or death for the rider.

According to a February, 2020 article in Notes from the Frontier, the painted symbols had specific meanings. The symbols were mostly drawn from nature such as a hand printmeant vengeance against an enemy or sometimes indicated success in hand combat. Zigzags represented thunder that symbolized speed or stealth. Hail markings predicted the enemy’s defeat and misfortune. Circles around the horse’s eyes or nostrils were believed to strengthen its senses for battle. Painted horse hooves symbolized successful raids or sometimes the number of horses stolen. A cross meant the rider had escaped an ambush. Slashes of color across a horse’s face indicated the successful defeat of an enemy village. Additional symbols with their interpretation may be viewed below.

One of the benefits gained for Trudy and me by living on a ranch is that we continue to learn from both our animals and our surroundings. I’ve tried to document the delights that I’ve encountered on Medicine Spirit Ranch and hope that you the reader have learned something as well and have enjoyed my efforts. Wishing you a wonderful 2024.

I’ll close this blog piece with a few famous horse quotations.

“The air of heaven is that which blows between a horse’s ears.”

“Blame it or praise it, there is no denying the wild horse in us.”

“A horse doesn’t care how much you know until it knows how much you care.”

“If you have gained the trust of a horse, you have gained a friendship for life.”

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.

“Cedar Fever” and Ashe Junipers

Uncategorized December 26, 2023 1 Comment

As Winter rolls around at Medicine Spirit Ranch, few things are as predictable as the onset of “Cedar Fever.” Many people in the Texas Hill Country react with an allergic response to what is called mountain cedar pollen but more properly referred to as Ashe Juniper pollen. While most trees pollinate in the Spring, Ashe Juniper pollinates in the winter, typically from December through February.

Like high quality high school football players and cattle, Texas has more mountain cedar than anywhere else in the U.S. and it is especially prominent throughout the central Texas area where we live. Following each cold front, gusts of wind cause the release of incredible amounts of pollen. When viewing a male mountain cedar in a heavy breeze, it is possible to witness a veritable cloud of pollen being released that looks much like an explosion of smoke. The pollen simply overwhelms the immunological systems of many individuals.

A cloud of pollen following a wind gust (photo by Andy Heatwole)

The sheer volume of pollen in the atmosphere due to the large numbers of Ashe junipers native to Texas is what causes Cedar Fever to be so prominent. See below the density of Ashe Junipers in Texas.

Ashe Junipers are most dense in Central Texas

What are the Symptoms of Cedar Fever?

Stuffy Nose

Itchy and Water Eyes

Runny nose

Sneezing

Low Fever

Partial loss of smell or taste

Fatigue

Given that cedar fever occurs at the same time as flu and cold season, it is often confused for these other maladies. Cedar fever can be especially bothersome in persons suffering asthma or other respiratory illnesses. Although usually more of a nuisance, I’ve known friends who had to relocate to other parts of the country or else travel extensively during cedar fever season and escape central Texas during the riskiest months. Strangely, some people are barely affected while others suffer immeasurably. Whether this is due to genetic predisposition or other reasons is not well understood.

Fortunately, treatment consists largely of over the counter antihistamines and decongestants. In my experience allergy shots or major lifestyle changes are less common. Although I’ve known people who require face masks when outside, must wash their clothes when coming indoors, and change their air conditioning filters in their homes and cars frequently in order to manage their symptoms.

I am also reminded of Cedar Fever at this time of year because in order to limit the amount of juniper, we hand cut the sprouting Ashe juniper. This requires using loppers and cutting the stalk at ground level. Originally the land was bulldozed to clear most of the larger juniper trees. Since then a yearly round of the ranch, lopping off the juniper sprouts serves us well. This is hard work but each year less and less of the juniper return.

I likely fool myself into thinking that my efforts might actually reduce the cedar fever that my wife and neighbors suffer from. In any event, reducing the thick foliage that can occur with junipers allows for more grass to grow and that at least makes my cows happy.

Bandit Our First Border Collie- Part 5: Intruder

A Dog's Pathway to Retirement, animal behavior, Animals on the ranch, Border collie herding abilities, Border collies, Bulls, canine cooperation, Creative Nonfiction, dog behavior, Dogs Model Human Behavior November 5, 2023 1 Comment

While driving across my ranch one early morning several months following retirement, I discovered my neighbor’s exceptionally large White Park bull standing amidst my small, young heifers. This jarring discovery became my first true ranch emergency and called for greater skill than than this neophyte rancher possessed at the time.

My inexperienced Border collies, Bandit and Mollie, surprisingly resolved this frightening situation for me, and by so doing revealed previously well hidden talents. The incident also provided me with a greater understanding of Bandit’s destructive and irritating behavior while feeling restricted in a city.

Bandit represents what can happen to anyone who is poorly suited for a particular place and then becomes transformed when moved to a more conducive environment.

This is a fitting final story about Bandit for this blog series, as he affected our lives so greatly. His story may inspire humans other than ourselves to seek changes in their lives and environments in which they have failed to bloom.

 

Towering above my black cows stood a giant, ghostly white bull. Its massive white head was accented by black ears, nose, and black-rimmed eyes. The bull was thick, muscular and three times the size of my young, first time heifers.

“Oh damn,” I murmured. “Now what?”

I  glanced around for my black Angus bull that I had recently leased to breed my first time heifers, but found it nowhere in sight. I realized that if this white behemoth were to breed my heifers the offspring would be much too large to deliver, putting the lives of my young heifers at risk. I felt a state of near panic rising up within me. The welfare of my young cows depended on me- the clueless city guy who was brand new to cattle ranching.

 After shoving two intensely interested Border collies deep within the truck, I opened the door and bailed out of my pickup. If freed I feared my two rookie collies might cause a stampede, leaving either the dogs or the cattle as casualties. I soon spotted a mangled section of fence not far from our old and falling down pole barn. Barbed wire dangled uselessly from broken cedar posts that lay scattered on the ground. The gouged and scraped dirt beneath the broken fence identified where the intruding bull had entered my ranch.

Mollie and Buddy want to help

Bulls are territorial animals. My herd bull would have confronted the the intruding bull at the perimeter fence and would have violently defended his domain. I instinctively knew that my small, leased Angus bull  would have had no more chance to repel the larger white bull, than would a destroyer pitted against a battleship.

I picked up a small limb from the ground and scuttled in the direction of the herd as fast as poorly conditioned legs would allow. My hand repeatedly gripped the rough bark of the stick, milking the stick for a plan to expel the intruding bull.

With my attention fixed on the bull, I failed to notice an exposed Live Oak root. I caught my foot on it, lost my balance, lurched forward, and struck the ground hard. My right hip absorbed the initial blow, causing a searing pain to explode down my leg and into my low back. My head next hit, smacking into a cow patty. As I pushed myself up from the ground, the pungent smell of cow dung filled my nostrils. Rage welled up within me. I scraped dung from cheek and glasses, regained my balance, and limped onward; anger supreme over pain. By then I had lost all semblance of common sense.

I shrieked, “I’m getting you, you trespasser! Can’t sneak onto my ranch!”

What I expected to accomplish with my limp along, futile advance was unclear, but lacking a plan to remove the bull, bravado was all I could muster. The bull threatened my small kingdom and challenged my role as protector of these young cows. To be sure, bulls were not the only territorial animals on the Hutton ranch that day.

My herd complete with the offending bull grazed in a pasture nearby the cattle pens. The herd stood a hundred yards removed from my now abandoned pickup, providing a degree of separation from my dogs, but I could still hear their barking coming from within the truck .

When I drew within twenty yards of the bull, the great white bull raised its massive head and slowly turned toward me. Its baleful, unblinking eyes fixed on me; a stare so powerful and so frightening that it stopped my movement. The bull’s coal black eyes seemed to project malevolence. I observed the immense thickness of his neck, thicker than a man’s chest. After taking a deep breath and steeling my resolve, I crabbed forward, all the time visually measuring the distance to the relative safety of the cattle pens in the event that the bull were to charge.

The bull lowered its massive head and slowly scraped his enormous hoof along the ground, throwing dirt up under its massive belly. This aggressive display again momentarily halted my forward progress. I observed how the bull’s dirt-caked nose dripped and how drool streamed from his maw. I could hear the bull’s low-pitched sounds, as if coming from a bass speaker, but so deep it was hard to imagine the sounds emanating from an animal rather than some mythological beast in a subterranean cavern. Evolution designed this warning to frighten away other bulls, predators, and foolish, neophyte ranchers like me.

Mercifully, the bull did not charge, leaving me to share my story. Perhaps surprised at seeing a yelling, flailing, limp along man, carrying but a small stick, he chose instead to fall back. The bull likely did not have fear me as much as viewing me as an inconvenience, like a pestering swarm of  flies.

Over the next twenty minutes, I attempted without success to separate the intruding bull from my herd. Despite repeated efforts, the bull stubbornly remained among my heifers. Despite the coolness of the morning, I soon found myself sweating and felt my shirt sticking to my back. My lungs began to burn, and more than once I was forced to bend over with hands on knees to recover from my efforts. My limited physical activity of a physician had certainly not prepared me for such physical exertion.

Once, I briefly separated the bull from the heifers, only to have him circle around me and quickly rejoin the cows. I felt irritated and and even a little embarrassed by my failure. Bulls, I learned, moved surprisingly fast to be such large animals.

Defeated, exhausted, and still smarting from my fall, I limped back toward my pickup. By then the earlier rosy glow above the eastern hills had developed into a breaking dawn. But the additional light provided me no further illumination as to how to rid the bull from the ranch. I turned toward the bull in a parting gesture- in case any neighbors across the fence happened to be watching- and yelled, “Just you wait, you’ll make the biggest meatloaf in history, make the Guinness Book of Records!”

Despite my bluster, I felt diminished and outsmarted by this roving ruminant. My boots scraped along the ground. I felt embarrassed- with my many years of education, outwitted and outrun by a dumb bovine.

While approaching the pickup, I heard howling from within it. When I raised my eyes, I saw my pickup visibly rocking. Bandit and Mollie’s wailing seemed to demand their release. Mollie had by then jumped over the seat and careened from side to side, banging forcibly into the car doors. She used her body like a small battering ram in her attempt to free herself.

Did someone say cows?

Bandit with his well practiced destructive ways had meanwhile shredded the back seat. Stuffing from the macerated seat had spread throughout the cab and the white seat stuffing made the interior resemble a snowstorm. A tuft of stuffing even crowned Bandit’s head like snow atop a mountain peak. Momentarily I stood dumbfounded, looking at the swaying truck and the dog-inspired mayhem within. I learned yet another painful ranch lesson- never leave the Borders in the pickup with nearby cows.

It became ever so clear the dogs demanded their opportunity at moving the bull. But realistically how could small, inexperienced dogs help against this giant marauder? I thought Bandit and Mollie could be hurt or even killed. The risk was too great to consider. I felt anguish, torn by fear for my dogs yet tormented by my responsibility for the young heifers and lack of a viable plan to evict the bull. Good reasons existed for not releasing the dogs, as they could be kicked, stomped, or butted by the giant bull. Their frenzied desire to participate in their Border collie birthright, however,  struck me as oddly compelling, and I had no better option.

I grasped the door handle but stood frozen by indecision. The dogs could do no worse than my sloppy misadventure, having driven the intruder still farther from the broken fence line.

Peering through the window of the pickup, I asked, “You want to help?”

In response deeply emotive howls erupted from within. Their tails beat a staccato against the seats, their eyes burned with an intensity not previously seen. Their bodies quivered. I pushed the button on the door handle, cracked the truck door ever so slightly, only to have it blown open, as two yelping Border collies erupted from the pickup like two demons escaping Hades.

“Go get the bull! Get him!” I yelled after them, my voice larded with desperation.

The dogs, like low flying cruise missiles, sped off in the direction of the intruding bull.
They raced across the pasture. Mollie, the younger and faster of the two, reached the bull first. As she neared Mollie cut her stride, dropped her head, eyed the bull, and began slowly to circle him. When an opening arose, Mollie darted between the bull and the cows. She crouched down, awaiting Bandit’s arrival. The bull lowered its head and watched Mollie intently.

Bandit’s appearance was not long in coming and consisted of a headlong, yapping, suicidal charge straight at the bull. His kamikaze-like onslaught caused the giant bovine to spin around to face his new attacker. In the last instant, Bandit veered off, barely escaping the bull’s head butt. This diversion of the bull’s attention provided Mollie the opportunity to surge forth and bite at the bull’s hind legs.

The bull appeared surprised and then perturbed by the double onslaught. He twisted his massive body around to determine the source of the bite and momentarily focused his malice on Mollie. He clattered a huge, hoof over the rocky soil. He bellowed a deeply pitched warning. The bull then retaliated with several ferocious kicks that narrowly missed my circling dogs. My spirits sank. Had I been foolish to release my dogs? A dog’s skull would be crushed by landing a single kick from this massive bovine.

To my surprise, my usually docile pets had transformed into snarling, vicious animals. They fixed wolf-like stares on the bull. They snarled, revealing gleaming white canines. My fear for my dogs’ safety became mixed with incredulity at their agility and bravery. Mollie and Bandit repeatedly darted at the bull, dodging his flying hooves. The efforts of the giant bull kicked up a dust cloud that at times obscured my view of the dogs. I felt loathing for this bull. He threatened the well-being of my heifers but now sought to kill my rookie herders. My heart pounded in my chest.

The bull shifted his glare between Bandit and Mollie, his eyes never leaving my determined dogs. Then the bull lifted his head and, surprisingly, took a tentative step backward. The dogs, sensing his hesitancy, stepped up their attacks as if choreographed, demonstrating a fury that left the bull appearing bewildered. While the dogs appeared to be dodging and diving haphazardly, it became apparent their efforts were forcing the bull to retreat.

By then I had arrived close enough to the mêlée to smell the musky aroma of the bull. I stationed myself on the opposite side of the bull from the downed fence. I brandished my stick- a stick that in the presence of the dogs drew increased respect. Together the dogs and I edged the bull slowly across the pasture toward the distant breech.

After several more minutes, we managed to move the bull about a hundred yards away from the herd. It was when circling from opposite directions that the unexpected happened. The dogs with eyes fixed on the bull collided full force after running into each other. This sent both dogs sprawling in the dirt. For an instant, both Borders lay almost motionless on the ground, legs splayed awkwardly.

On seeing this unexpected opportunity, the bull whirled around and reversed his course and headed back toward the heifers. He swept by me, ignoring my windmilling arms, leaving me standing helpless in his lumbering wake. He had thundered by me so close that I smelled his rank odor and could have reached out and touched his broad back. The dogs quickly reacted, regaining their feet. Bandit stretched a painful limb, as if testing it. Soon both dogs were again afoot and raced back into the fight.

Mollie closed to a spot directly behind the bull where she bit and grasped his tail. In the next instant, I saw Mollie, attached Bulldog-style, rocketing behind the galloping bull looking like a miniature black and white caboose attached to a runaway locomotive. When the bull slowed, Bandit charged and sensing an opportunity, bit down on his broad nose, leaving behind a bloody gash. Bandit’s attack temporarily distracted the bull from the tenacious tail-grasping Mollie.

The bull, now bleeding from his nose, appeared flummoxed. He stepped away from Bandit and then proceeded to buck like a rodeo bull. By so doing the bull’s tail whip-like flung Mollie high into the air. She fell to the ground some twenty feet away, her back awkwardly pressed against a water trough.

My heart sank. Was she hurt? Would she be all right?

As if to answer, Mollie sprang up, shook herself, and raced back across the dusty paddock toward the bull. The collies outran the bull and placed themselves between the bull and herd. At the dogs’ urging the bull again turned back and with collies in close pursuit moved toward the broken fence. He eventually began to run directly for the broken fence line. The dogs, arcing from side to side trailed the trundling, ghost-like bull, herding him always onward.

Where did the bull go?

The bull thundered by the pickup, circled around the corrugated aluminum barn, and crossed the caliche ranch road with his giant hooves causing crunching sounds. The bull then in full gallop with an occasional desultory kick at the pursuing dogs headed for the broken fence and to safety from the pursuing dogs. Despite my best efforts, I fell behind the faster moving bull and dogs. But I was able to view the bull as he jumped through the yawning breach and into the pasture of the neighboring ranch.

I arrived at the breach in the fence where I found Bandit and Mollie pacing like two guard sentries. Both gazed in the direction of the disappearing marauder. I collapsed to my knees, sucking in huge quantities of air. I threw my arms around their furry necks, hugged them fiercely, and buried my face in their pungent, silky coats. Bandit and Mollie had accomplished what only minutes before had seemed utterly impossible.

Bandit, happy at last at the ranch where he never again chewed up furniture

From deep within these collies had come an instinct to separate the foreign bull from the herd and to drive him to the broken fence line. Moments before the dogs had acted ferociously, but they had transformed again into my pets. Their eyes still shone and tongues dangled haphazardly. Bandit and Mollie seemed to comprehend the magnitude of their accomplishment and appeared alive in a way I had never before witnessed.

Still too winded to speak, I embraced my incredible dogs. I scratched their ears. I hugged their necks I feet the softness of their fur against my cheeks. Raspy tongues licked my face and ears. Pride swelled within me. I felt exultant, as my burden had suddenly and miraculously been lifted. Bandit and Mollie, my two courageous Border collies, had provided a present, as dear in their giving as in my receiving.

Eventually my breathing became more normal and I was able to speak. I cupped their warm, damp muzzles in my hands. The dogs stared back at me, their eyes gleaming. They appeared expectant. With my first words, I uttered the time honored, but ever so parsimonious Border collie congratulation.

”That’ll do Bandit.”
“That’ll do Mollie.”

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 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.