Category Archives: Dog Stories

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This is the fourth blog piece in a series that features our first Border collie, Bandit, and is taken from an unpublished book titled The Bandit’s Gift.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.

Our First Border Collie

Border collies, Dog Stories, Retirement September 23, 2023 Comments: 3

I have written several blog pieces lately about our new puppy, Beau. Writing about Beau and his antics reminds me of our experiences with our first  Border collie, Bandit. Bandit played such a meaningful role in our lives and had much to do with relocating Trudy and me from a frantic urban existence to the peacefulness and solitude of Medicine Spirit Ranch.

If lucky, once in a lifetime your perfect dog comes along. Bandit was that dog for me. Bandit below as a puppy.

Beau reminds me of Bandit in so many ways including his looks, enthusiasm, and intelligence. Our initial unexpected encounter with Bandit came about via Trudy. The story goes something like this.

In The Beginning

While shopping at the Lubbock South Plains Mall In 1997, my wife Trudy unwittingly sewed the seeds of my early retirement.  For one whose life had been meticulously planned and extensively fretted over, this single instance of pure happenstance played a huge role in my future.

“Ooohh, look at that darling puppy!”

So began Bandit’s story with us in mid-April, 1997 when Trudy lovingly uttered these simple, affectionate words,  having locked gazes with a floppy eared, seven-week old black and white puppy. It had cocked his head quizzically and viewed Trudy through the front window of the pet store. With its white tipped tail and white paws, the pup unabashedly stared at her, seemingly beseeching her to take him home. I visualize Trudy standing outside the Lubbock Pet Store window, hands resolutely on hips, head cocked to one side to mirror the puppy’s head cocking and with her usual steely resolve melting faster than an ice cream cone in July.

Andy, our eldest child, had expressed a heartfelt wish for doggie companionship to divert him from his life of torts and criminal proceedings. Andy lived by himself in an apartment in Raleigh, North Carolina and was lonely — an emotion he felt that the right dog would promptly alleviate.

“So why a Border collie?” I had asked.

He responded by saying, “I like smart schools and smart people and want my dog to be smart.” Blissfully ignorant of Border collie ways, other than their reputation for being the most intelligent breed of dogs, Andy determined that a Border collie puppy would make the perfect pet.

Trudy and I proved equally ignorant of Border collie ways. However, we were supremely proud of our son, our Duke Law School student- a boast we trumpeted far and wide. Admittedly, we proved once again to be indulgent parents.

After watching the endearing puppy with the warm, golden-brown eyes ever so cleverly displayed by the owner of the pet store in the front window, Trudy as if pulled by a tractor beam was drawn into the shop. Among the fluttering of parakeet wings, the musky smells of the animals, and amid the mews and barks, she requested to personally inspect the puppy in the front window. A young blonde haired clerk fetched the puppy and placed him in Trudy’s arms. There the conniving rascal had immediately snuggled into the crook of her elbow.  Trudy said she sniffed that unmistakable  new puppy scent and immediately fell in love with the puppy. He solidified his future with us by soulfully licking her arm and playfully chewing on the cuff of her blouse. In retrospect this mere nibble had significance far beyond Trudy’s understanding at the time.

With her usual practicality by then in headlong retreat, Trudy with puppy pressed to her chest had headed further into the pet store where she proceeded to fill a basket with what she described were “a few” puppy-related items.

Trudy’s “few” items later became apparent to me when unpacking her Datsun SUV and finding a dog bed, collar, kennel, six month supply of dog food, chew toys, balls, pull toys, leashes, dog raising instructional books, assorted dog magazines, and various toys- all of which when compressed emitted irritating squeaking noises.

“You think we’ve enough supplies?” I asked in mock irritation.

She replied, “Well, if we’re going to have a dog, we need to be prepared.” I nodded dumbly. Had we only known then how truly UNPREPARED we were.

We assumed the puppy and Andy would stay the summer before returning to North Carolina for the Fall term. Within a few days the dog’s paraphernalia lay scattered about the house like landmines, but what the heck, we thought, such disorder wouldn’t exist for long.

Several weeks later, Andy arrived home, having completed his first year of Law School. He proved eager to hold his new puppy that he previously had seen only in pictures. Andy shared with us that knowing he had a puppy waiting for him had powered him through the slog of final exams.  His mother and I beamed proudly, having done our best to stoke his enthusiasm by phoning him cute puppy stories and mailing him photos of the adorable pint-sized pup.  His excitement reinforced our thoroughly rationalized– if unenlightened– decision to buy the dog.

We had sent Andy one picture showing the fluffy imp staring adoringly into the camera.  Beside his kennel we had placed a sign that read “Andy, Hurry Home Soon.”

“Your Mom and I have been calling him MacDuff. Since the Border collie breed originally hails from the border of Scotland and England, the geography fits.”

Andy glanced away and studied the tiny animal that lay before him. I sensed Andy didn’t care for our suggested name but was careful not to offend his doting parents. After all, we were paying for his incredibly expensive higher education, an expense near equal the economy of a small third world country.  Andy squinted his eyes and looked out the window before tactfully torpedoing our name for the puppy.

Andy sat cross-legged on the carpeted floor while inspecting his pup.  He rolled the puppy onto his back, studied each white tipped foot, tweaked his tiny black nose, and scratched his rounded and protruding belly.  He stared thoughtfully for a few moments into the puppy’s sensitive, dark eyes.

Andy lifted the puppy to his neck, sniffed its uniquely appealing scent and snuggled it. He lowered the puppy while pointing and said, “Look at these black patches around his eyes, looks like a Bandit’s mask… I think I’ll call him Bandit!” Below when Bandit was older with his distinctive black eye patches.

So Bandit the puppy became.  And while it wasn’t the name we had in mind, its appropriateness over the next several months became especially evident.

The Adventure Begins

“Trudy, have you seen that pair of socks I laid out?”

“Have you looked on your feet?”

Not only socks but shoes, books, belts, and small throw rugs disappeared, only to reappear in unusual places, and sometimes having acquired gnaw marks. Items were regularly recovered from under beds, in the tiny spaces behind the sofa, and anywhere humans could not easily access.

One morning just before heading for the hospital and while in a rush frenzy, I could not locate my black medical bag. The allure that my leather bag might hold for a puppy with a leather fetish suddenly struck home.  I became increasingly concerned, bordering on frank panic. Trudy and I launched a search in the usual doggie hiding places. Eventually to my embarrassment, I discovered that sleepy me had failed the night before to remove the black bag from my car.

“My mistake Bandit, but don’t you ever even think about taking this bag,” I said, as I held out my medical black bag for his inspection. Bandit cocked his head to the left and gave me a look that I interpreted as, “Who, me?”

“If Border collies are so smart, maybe you can train him to search for your black bag, because I’m sure not going to, Sherlock,” Trudy harrumphed. I blew her a kiss and backed sheepishly out the hall door into the garage.

A Glimmer of Understanding

The white-coated heavy set vet assistant with heavy footsteps ushered us along an narrow hallway barely large enough for her to pass and into a room at the far end. The room smelled faintly of antiseptic and was furnished with a stainless-steel examination table, sink, and three chairs.

Before the vet arrived, I passed Bandit to Trudy and tried to wash the yellow stain from my sleeve.  I scrubbed with paper towels and hand soap drawn from the dispenser, accomplishing little except spreading the stain.  I had just finished with my unsatisfactory effort when Dr. Brown with white coattail flapping blew into the room. He was a man of average size with an open face, curly salt and pepper hair, exuberant eyebrows, and better tanned than any hard working, small animal veterinarian should be.

Dr. Brown soon turned his full attention to our young dog. Our puppy tried with licks, moans, and waggles to endear himself to this new potential playmate.

“So you decided on a Border collie, did you?” Doctor Brown said while lifting our dog up and onto the polished metal examination table. The puppy fidgeted about while trying to gain traction on the slippery metal exam table.

There was something unsettling in the vet’s tone of voice.  Was he being haughty?  I ignored it, assuming due to my fatigue I was imagining an affront. “Yes, we knew Borders to be such intelligent animals,” I responded.

“Oh, he’s not ours, he’s our son’s to take back to school,” Trudy chimed in, sounding, I thought, a little defensive.  But my wife had reinforced my suspicion that she too had detected something left unsaid by the vet.

Dr. Brown raised his thick bushy eyebrows to a remarkable peak, shooting us a brief look of strained disbelief, if not outright incredulity. He then turned his attention fully to examining our pup.  He began to gently probe the dog’s protuberant belly. Our dog returned his interest by applying a slow lick along the veterinarian’s chin, ending just short of his well tanned left ear lobe. 

Doctor Brown ignored the affection and continued his exam by checking the puppy’s teeth, listened to his lungs, auscultated his heart, and finally administered various vaccinations.  He then surprised me by asking if I would restrain little Bandit while he performed a rectal swab.

Soon the veterinarian completed his taking of a stool sample. I lifted the puppy from the table, again sensing his softness, and cradled the puppy in my arms. Before leaving the room, Dr. Brown looked earnestly at Trudy and me and said, “Border collies can be pretty busy, you know. There’s an old adage, ‘You have to give a Border collie a job, or else he will become self-employed… and never productively.’” Again, as if to emphasize his point, he arched his impressive eyebrows in his quite remarkable way.  He then turned quickly and exited the room, carrying his sample with him in a small piece of white gauze.

“Well, what do you make of that?” I asked when the door had closed behind Dr. Brown.  “I thought his eyebrows were going to kiss his hairline!”

“What did he mean with that job bit?  Audacity, if you ask me.  Maybe not a Border collie lover.  Looks more like the Schnauzer type.”

“Besides,” I said, “You’ve emptied the pet store of supplies and toys, and I’ll take the dog to the park every few days.”

“He just doesn’t know how capable we really are!  Look how successful we’ve been raising our two children.  How much trouble does he think one little bitty dog can be? Besides, we successfully raised a not too bright Dalmatian and two Shetland Sheep dogs. One tiny dog, Piece of cake!”

We murmured all this while keeping our voices low, as Dr. Brown banged about next door within his laboratory.  After about fifteen minutes, the door to the examination room burst open, and the veterinarian like a sudden summer storm swept back into the exam room, his broad face bearing an unmistakable look of satisfaction.

Dr. Brown confirmed to us what he had apparently suspected. The rounded belly (that very one that Trudy and I had found so adorable) resulted from distension caused by parasites.  PARASITES! He explained our dog was small, because he was competing, and none too successfully mind you, for nourishment with his belly worms.

“With a round of antibiotics, we’ll put those parasites on the run and get this dog growing again,” Dr. Brown clucked.

“Great, we sure hope so,” I recall saying, an aspiration I would later seriously regret.

Trudy later reminded me of the old adage that says- be careful of what you ask for.  Little did we know? It was months later before Trudy and I appreciated the full significance of the veterinarian’s not so subtle warnings.

           A Growth Spurt

As predicted by Dr. Brown, those magic little pills shrank the dog’s belly but also had a similar effect on my wallet. The pup over the next several weeks, lacking his parasitic competition, began to grow like the time-lapsed pictures from the TV dog food commercial.

The dog ate prodigiously. He ate vast amounts of puppy chow, canned dog food, leftovers from the table, morsels stolen from trashcans, my comfortable old leather loafers, and a few tasty treats from the refrigerator that admittedly I snitched for the puppy. Yes, I aided and abetted the seemingly starved puppy.

Following several futile refrigerator searches, a miffed Trudy reported she had harbored other plans for the missing leftovers. Our poor parasitic wracked dog deserved a few extravagances or so I thought.

Although he began small, our dog soon surpassed the average fifteen to forty pounds for the breed.  Even more impressive than his weight that had zoomed past 60-pounds was his meteoric increase in height. Despite his classic Border collie markings, people often inquired if he carried any non-Border collie blood.

Soon after beginning the antibiotics, a geyser of energy developed in Bandit.  While he had been active before, Bandit then became super-charged. Admiring his spike in liveliness one afternoon caused me to daydream of performing a medical study to distill the remarkable goodness of his overachieving mitochondria into pill form and cash out by advertising on late night cable TV.  When I shared this daydream with its potential for Midas-like riches with my wife, I once again was treated to her “dumb look” and her lack of a verbal response.

A month after our visit to the vet and after entering from the garage one night, I greeted Trudy and  sheepishly inquired how Bandit had done that day.  Almost on cue, I heard a faint scampering of small paws from the den, followed by a series of noises, suggesting minor collisions in the vicinity of the dining room, followed a few moments later by Bandit in full stride charging through the kitchen door. With an ecstatic face between two floppy black ears, he rocketed off the carpeted dining room, churning like a dynamo on a path straight for me.  Several feet away from me, he hit the brakes, thrusting his paws out in front of him.  The pup sensed that he had lost all traction on the linoleum and immediately entered an uncontrollable slide.

Bandit developed a quizzical look on his face, casting uncertain eyes upward to me in what I thought was an apologetic way.  He vigorously began to backpedal before ending up in a furry heap atop my shoes. From there he looked up at me with a look of adoring and abject joy.

I lifted the squirming puppy to my cheek where he began licking furiously.  Such ungoverned displays of joy are not unusual with Bandit. They have occurred following my being out of town several days, or having just returned from the corner mini-mart.  The dog just doesn’t take long to miss his people.

“Honey, maybe we could get him a job as a greeter at Walmart?” I offered lamely.

To this Trudy responded with a weak smile and a “Huh”.

Trudy and I failed to match Bandit’s surge in energy. His need to stay busy while typical for Borders is not for middle-aged, pudgy, and chronically fatigued humans. Our plans for more frequent doggy exercise hadn’t meshed well with our exhausted physical states.

“Honey, do you feel a slight vibration?” I asked one night while I dozed in my favorite chair in the den.

“Nope, but I thought I heard grinding.”

“There it is again, I know I feel a slight vibration in this chair,” I said.

Fearing what I might discover, I slowly leaned over the side of my chair and looked beneath it. I spotted an open mouthed snout bearing tiny razor sharp teeth with a death grip on the chair leg.  “Say Honey, this chair you like so well?  I think it’s become an alteration project for the Bandit dog!”

Bandit’s piranha-like teeth unfortunately were not limited to teething on chair legs but extended to sampling cushions, carpets, table legs, and even plastic patio furniture.  The dog seemed to have become a pint-sized canine version of a wood chipper. This called for action.

We Fight Back

In a desperate attempt to limit further damage to the house and furniture, we tried distraction. Bandit became the designated companion for any family member leaving our home on an errand.  He became the ever present, excited, ear-flapping, ride along dog, drooling out the window of a Hutton car.

I had never seen him happier than when riding shotgun for the family. Perhaps he saw his rides as a job. I imagined that he felt like the guy on the stagecoach carrying the gun, protecting the driver from desperadoes or Indians on the warpath.  Clearly Bandit’s new position was not the job for which a Border collie had been bred, but it was, nevertheless, a job.

“Say, Shotgun, want to ride to the emergency room with me?”  Bandit wagged his tail vigorously.  “Well load ‘em up Shotgun and mind the strong box.  We’ve got some rough country to travel!”

Andy and Katie, our high school aged daughter, recounted that Bandit visited local fast food establishments and cruised the broad boulevards of Lubbock, often until deep into the star studded west Texas night. Bandit would ride along, head extended from the window, as they drove past the statue of Will Rogers astride his horse, Soapsuds, located on the Texas Tech University campus or circled through downtown Lubbock, passing by the oversized statue of a guitar toting,  thick rimmed and bespectacled Buddy Holly.  Bandit happily accompanied anyone with errands to run or packages to mail.

Bandit occasionally even went on dates with Andy. Trudy and I chuckled at what Andy’s girlfriend must have thought, sharing her date with an enthusiastic puppy.  We imagined Bandit at a drive-in movie snuggled between them, curled up around a box of popcorn, enjoying his people. To my surprise, once prior to a date night, I found Trudy down on the floor next to a curled up Bandit, instructing him on his responsibilities as a chaperone.

“You don’t think this is really going to do any good, do you?”

“Hey Buster, these dogs are really smart, and besides, I don’t trust that bleached blonde bubble-headed temptress,” Trudy said, twisting around to look at me.

“Do you think at the end of the evening both Andy and Bandit will give her a goodnight smooch?  Suspect Bandit could really tickle her tonsils!”

Ride-along car trips were not our only gambit for distracting our young dog.  Desperation, after all, breeds creativity.  At our urging Andy and Katie spent hours playing with Bandit, teaching him to sit and shake, walking him up and down the block, and showing him off to their friends. Bandit proved a quick study at learning tricks and entertaining friends, and particularly enjoyed chasing sticks thrown by Andy, Katie, and their friends.

To our relief, the time Bandit spent playing fetch was time not spent digging gorges in our backyard or shortening our furniture. Trudy and I suffered from sapped energy, stemming from our busy, stressful lives at the clinic and from attempting to keep up with the energetic dog.

To her credit Trudy signed the dog up for two series of obedience classes. After a long day at the office, she sacrificed many evenings, trying to improve our doggie’s decorum. To Bandit’s credit, he became the star pupil in his obedience class.

Trudy took pride in relating his ability to learn quickly. Trudy returned from class more than once disdainful at the slowness of other dogs to learn even basic commands.

“You should have seen Sal, a really stupid and clingy Cocker Spaniel.  The instructor worked for 15 minutes just getting the lop-eared hound to follow her.  All he wanted to do was stay with his master or else sniff other dogs’ butts.  I wasted my time just standing there at the end of Bandit’s leash and watching that dim-wit.”

“Now dear, not all dogs are as smart as Border collies,” sounding I feared a bit too patronizing.

Toward late summer, unexpected complications arose with Andy’s Fall housing arrangements. While reviewing his apartment lease from North Carolina, Andy had discovered a previously overlooked clause that pointedly excluded dogs weighing over 30-pounds.  By then Bandit had eaten his way through the canine middleweight division and was on his way to heavyweight status and was still growing like Jack’s, well fertilized, beanstalk.

The Ask

While Andy toyed with fudging this not so tiny detail in the contract, at about the same time another complication arose in taking Bandit with him back to North Carolina.  Andy learned his scheduled clerkship in criminal law would require longer absences from his apartment than he previously thought.  Lacking a fenced yard, Bandit would have to remain inside the apartment for lengths of time beyond the bladder endurance of a young dog.

“Dad, Mom could I speak with you for a few minutes?”

Something in Andy’s voice should have tipped us off that sweltering August evening, and we should have run the other way. How we missed this opportunity to avoid THE TALK, I will never know. Had I been wise, I would have grabbed my pager and my black bag and trumpeted how pressing matters awaited me at the hospital.

With the gravitas befitting an eighteenth century French diplomat, Andy politely requested we join him at the kitchen table. Outside I heard crickets chirping what must have been a warning.

Once Andy had us gathered at the wooden pedestal kitchen table and had confirmed that we were comfortable and not lacking for refreshment, he bit by bit came around to his point. After more thoughtful moments, as if choosing his words for a final summation before the U.S. Supreme Court and after reiterating his unexpected housing and scheduling difficulties for the third time, Andy came to his question.  I saw him swallow hard and with a look of earnestness on his handsome young face blurt out the reason for our meeting.

“Mom, Dad do you think you might keep Bandit, just till after Christmas?” He quickly added, “I’ll take him back in January, soon as I complete my criminal law clerkship.”  His plight and sincerity proved strangely moving. 

Silly us, I should have known it was a well-rehearsed ploy, a mere affectation learned by all fledgling law students.   Trudy and I should have considered letting our eldest child endure the consequences of his poor planning, although, admittedly, we too were complicit.  It could have been character building for the son– right?

Fortunately, unanticipated consequences of faulty judgments do not always become immediately clear, especially when parents’ well-loved children are the committers. It may even be better for parental self-esteem that we don’t perceive our foolhardiness right away.

At the time I was struggling to manage a busy private practice, direct a neurological research center, and maintain stability in a fractious physician group. These were a lot of plates to keep spinning at the same time.

Trudy had left the practice of law as Director of Lubbock Legal Aid to manage the Neurology Research and Education Center that I had established.  I had simultaneously created the Center along with the private practice but was finding too few hours to do justice to both. Actually she, a Family Law attorney, had tired of divorcing people who inevitably were contentious and angry. I rationalized that she longed for a fresh career outside of Law; however, this doctor/husband has enjoyed claiming (even perhaps boasting at times) to have reduced the legal workforce in Lubbock by one.

In Trudy I had complete trust to coordinate the Neurology Research and Education Center. As a wife, she knew the emotional importance to me of maintaining research and educational interests despite my having left the rarefied air of academia.  Her selfless sacrifice for my career was vintage Trudy.  Whenever my professional advancement had required a change of location, Trudy had agreed to support the change, even when it conflicted with her own career- no blatant feminism in Trudy.  I knew my blessings.

Both Trudy and I had stayed overly busy with our jobs, rarely seeing each other during the workday, despite working mere steps away.  Trudy’s day at the Neurology Research and Education Center would end around 5:00 P.M., and she would depart for home to prepare dinner, clean the house, pick up dog toys, and attend to  family chores left undone from her largely absent husband.

Many days I would work 16 hours or more in the hospital and clinic only to come home with a big stack of electroencephalograms to interpret and to be on call for the emergency room and urgent hospital consultations.  Neither Trudy nor I had time for a needy puppy, especially one as active as a Border collie.

As I listened that evening while sitting across the table from Andy, I glanced past him into an adjacent bedroom. There I spotted Bandit’s impish white face with black eye patches, pink tongue, shiny black nose, and floppy ears protruding from beneath the bed’s dust ruffle.  Bandit cocked his head imploringly in our direction, as if expectant of our parental response.  Trudy and I gave each other meaningful looks, and then answered in unison, in a manner as predictable, as it was foolhardy.

“Of course, Andy, we’d love to keep Bandit!”

So dear readers of my blog, please know that by the time the Christmas holidays eventually arrived, Bandit, Trudy, and I had become so bonded together that Andy could not have gotten that dog away from us with a gun. The weld was sound. Our emotions had meshed. Our schedules somehow had expanded to fit our needs. Our affection for Bandit had become enormous.

The reasons for this tight bond and our love for this amazing dog will be revealed in future blog posts.

 

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.

Jack’s Tail of Two Cities- Part II of Jack’s Story

Creative Nonfiction, Creative Writing, Dog Stories July 21, 2018 Comments: 5

Editor’s note: This is the second part of Little Jack’s dictated story. I hope you enjoy it. Also Jack asked me to thank his fans for their emails and words of encouragement.  When he said this, his tail was wagging broadly and he sported a giant canine grin.

Little Jack, also known as Scrapper, dictating his backstory. Note he lays on two pillows- a long way from his days when on the road

 

It wasn’t long after Eddie’s departure for college that I overheard his parents talking about a trip to visit one of her littermates. Actually I may not have understood the whole event at the time but filled in details later. I know that I understood “go” and “car”- two words quite sufficient to excite me. At that time I was still learning to understand more complicated human speech.

I sat licking my paws just to have something to do when the important conversation between Eddie’s parents occurred. Initially I had a glimmer of understanding but that soon grew into a full-fledged idea, much like when chewing on a bone in the dark and becoming surprised to discover residual meat on the bone.

You see, I vaguely remembered from where I had come and held a strong desire to visit there again. Haven’t you had this feeling? My birthplace may not have been perfect, yet I recalled it as nearly so. Eddie’s parents became more purposeful that week and began to pack their suitcases. I became increasingly excited over the prospect of going on a car trip.

I displayed my excitement by repeatedly scratching to go in and out the backdoor of our house, a behavior that seemed to irritate Eddie’s parents. Wasn’t that what back doors were for? I must admit that I become frustrated by how slowly humans move. After all, once I had my collar on, I was packed and ready to depart!

One morning my sluggish human companions finally began loading their suitcases into the car, grabbed up my sack of dry dog food and bowls, and climbed into the car that made the droning sound. I didn’t have to be called, as I had already bounded onto the backseat of the car. No way would I be left behind.

No way are you leaving me behind. Note tags that jangle.

We headed out of that busy, smelly city and drove into the countryside. We drove for a long time. Eventually the flat plain fell behind us, and the land turned hilly with gurgling creeks and streams. I kept my nose pressed against the window, panting the whole time. By the end of the trip I had nose prints covering that side window.

The number of cars and trucks on the road gradually grew less. The air became fresher and more fragrant. I smelled flowery smells, the earthy smells of cattle, and the sweet fragrance of freshly turned soil. Those smells I recognized and they pleased me and made my tail wag. This all had an uncanny familiarity for me. These scents not only were familiar, but they also tantalized my nose and made it twitch.

We eventually arrived at a cattle ranch just west of Fredericksburg. The trip seemed to take a long time, perhaps because I was much too excited to sleep. I rode in the backseat with my tail striking the back of the front seat. I think my thumping tail on the back of the seat and the jangling sound of my tags from scratching had aggravated the man, as during one of the car stops he removed my collar. It just didn’t take much to irritate him. For me I like the sound of jangling tags, except of course when I am stalking a squirrel.

Ahead of the car appeared a beautiful, bright sunset, as if beckoning me home. I panted with excitement. I could barely contain my excitement. I felt at one with this countryside; a completely different feeling than for the big city.

Soon I’d be free to run around in a big yard and go free without that wretched leash. I was one happy, excited dog, although I knew a visit did not mean forever, and it would end far too soon.

Admittedly, once back in the country, I gave thought to running away from the ranch. I feel guilty for even admitting this. I had several opportunities when I could have easily slipped under the barbed wire fence and have taken off to explore surrounding ranches. Nevertheless, leaving my food bowl and more importantly, deserting my humans kept me from doing so.

Hadn’t Eddie asked me to look after his parents? And what about chasing off those pesky squirrels in the yard? Those taunting squirrels might just overrun the place without me!

Ultimately the day of our planned departure for the big, stinky city arrived. At the time I rested under a tree next to a stream not far from the house. From there I watched Eddie’s parents straining to carry out their suitcases. I heard Eddie’s Dad call out for me in his deep voice.

“Scrapper, Scrapper, time to pack up the car and go! Come on Scrapper.”

I considered turning my back on him and heading off in another direction. I felt a tug between my feeling of oneness with this country that felt so right and my loyalty to my family from the big, smelly city. They weren’t much of a family, mind you, but loyalty is loyalty, and I am a very loyal dog.

“Hurry up Scrapper. It’s time to leave. Load up now!”
Both Eddie’s parents were calling. Their pitched voices sounded sorrowful, as they repeatedly summoned me. As if my own will had been stolen from me, I stood up, arched my back, stretched, and trotted back toward the yard. Once there I feigned a happy side-to-side tail waggle and jumped through the open back door into the car. Eddie’s father smiled.

I can’t fully explain how I felt about this situation except to say, I was hesitant to leave. Still I was loyal, and they were my human companions. Eddie’s father stuck his head in through the backdoor and removed my collar and tags for the trip. I settled in, awaiting the final packing of the car, expecting to hear the trunk slam shut at any moment.

It was then that something entirely unexpected occurred, something so thrilling, so galling that it would change the course of my young life. I saw a black, four-footed animal with what looked like a black mask, scurrying across the lawn. It had dark, evil appearing eyes and an alternating black and white striped tail. I caught a whiff of it and the animal cast off a different scent from any animal I had ever smelled. I had never experienced a raccoon before, but I was pretty sure it held evil, vile intentions and required my dealing with it. I needed to defend the house and my people from this disreputable predator. I raised myself up and launched myself out the open door. I took off at full speed, racing after the intruder.

The evil raccoon

The raccoon saw me coming, turned tail and lit out. It ran under the fence and scurried into a nearby woods. I dove through the fence, raking myself on the barbed wire in the process. One must sacrifice when pursuing bad animals. I could run faster than could the raccoon and rapidly closed the distance between us. What I didn’t realize was how good the masked one would be at hiding. He had a regular disappearing act. Several times I overran that sneaky raccoon, as it hid behind trees and expertly concealed itself in low spots. I had to place my nose to the ground several times and retrace my path in order to pick up its distinctive, musky scent. Having found its trail, I followed it. Repeatedly I jumped the raccoon, and each time it raced off with me in close pursuit.

The sneaky raccoon

What I failed to recognize at that time was how my pursuit was leading me farther and farther away from my city family and the car that made the droning sound. During the frantic chase, I seemed to lose all track of time. Oh what fun I was having!

After considerable time had passed, I looked up, surveyed the area for familiar surroundings, and failed to recognize where I was. I began to make a large circle, surveying the area. Nothing at all looked familiar. I was lost. I felt confused and for the first time in my life, I was entirely alone. Let me tell you that’s a pretty scary experience for a small, young dog.

I spent the rest of the day, searching around for familiar landmarks and my people. But by then I had lost all sense of direction. I cocked my ears up and heard no telltale sounds. Time passed. Finally the sun began to set behind some distant hills. The air temperature dropped. Fortunately my fur coat keeps me warm unless the temperature gets really low. Tired by this time, I lay down in an earthen crevice beside a stream and began to assess my situation. I licked my wounds where I had earlier scraped myself bolting through the barbed wire fence. I considered my options. It didn’t take me long to realize my circumstances were not good, not good at all.

To Be Continued