Tag Archives: animal behavior

Tragedy in the Texas Hill Country

Animals on the ranch, Flash floods in the Texas Hill Country, Tragedy in the Texas Hill Country July 6, 2025 Leave a comment

The news of terrible flash floods in the Texas Hill Country, most notably in the Kerrville area, are now well known around the world. Many friends and family members from across the country and as far away as Australia have checked with us to be sure we are okay. For those of us who live in the Hill Country, the impact has been personal, painful, and concerning. Our ranch is only 22-miles from Kerrville. Rain totals on Friday at Medicine Spirit Ranch measured six inches on top of already saturated soil from earlier rains this week. Today, we have had almost another three inches thus far, creating flash floods. We are unable to get off our hill due to multiple flooded low water crossings. The water at the base of our hill is raging and would sweep my pickup away if I were foolish enough to attempt a crossing.

Our lives at the ranch have been only minimally impacted with our inability to ford low water crossings, cancellation of Fourth of July parades and fireworks, and concern over blow out fences where streams flow into and out of our ranch land. That is not true for many unfortunates in the Hill Country. No doubt fences are down and stock will wander. Round ups are in my future when feasible.

My major concern has been with the poor folks in Kerr County some of whom have lost their lives, houses, and property. Many people living in our area and some of our family members have had children or other relatives attend Camp Mystic in Hunt, Texas. Our local representative to Congress, August Pfluger, had two daughters at Camp Mystic who fortunately have now been evacuated.

I’ve spent time in the past on the banks of the Guadalupe River in Kerrville. People had gathered for the Fourth of July celebration and had been enjoying the festivities. At 2:30 am and in a matter of minutes the river rose 30 feet and swept away campers, cars, pets, and people. As I write this some 80 people have been declared deceased with 11 girls from Camp Mystic are still missing. The count will inevitably go up.

While living in the Texas Hill Country is idyllic, flash floods have long been a threat. The reasons for flash floods are multiple. The soil is thin in the Hill Country and retains water poorly. I’ve always been surprised the day following a good rain that the ground often will be dry. Also the hilly and rocky terrain and steep canyons cause rapid shedding of ground water into shallow creeks and gorges. The humid air from the Gulf and from the Pacific Ocean can meet a front moving down from the Great Plains and give rise to torrential rainfall. Such was the situation that has given rise to our flash floods that began three days ago.

The flash floods in the Texas Hill Country are recurring. The last big flash flood with loss of life was in 1987 when the Guadalupe River rose 27-feet in a matter of a few hours. Extreme weather has become more frequent and worse with global warming. The warming causes the air to hold increased water vapor that on meeting cooler air gives rise to torrential downpours and raging streams and rivers.

Federal, and State emergency services are at work. Even faster has been the local response. For example today our church took in countless jugs of water and many bags of personal items to distribute to the needy. These packages will leave shortly for the affected area. Our Rotary District has already established methods for donating money and plans to send many Rotarians to the flood sites for clean up purposes. Everyone seems to be mobilizing in some way to lend a hand during this tragedy. Texans are resilient and events such as these sad events give rise to uncommon cooperation and generosity.

Finally I’ll add a few random thoughts. Prior to the torrential rain, the sky took on a definite purple cast. Both Trudy and I noticed the strange color of the sky that in the past has been associated with thunderstorms, hailstorms, and tornadoes. The sky had an ethereal appearance.

Also this afternoon after checking Live Oak Creek and finding it flooding, I found an unusual number of animals roaming around the top of the hill. I saw a gray fox run across the road. This was an unusual sight to see a fox in the middle of the day. Secondly, I saw a turtle arduously crawling up the ranch road from the creek toward one of our stock tanks (read pond). It had traveled over 200 yards to that point. Finally, I spotted the largest herd of deer I’ve ever witnessed atop our hill. No doubt these animals sought high ground to escape the raging water below.

Upon returning from checking the status of the creek and immediately after spotting the large herd of white tail deer, I parked the pickup, heaved a dejected sigh, and let out the Border collies. Duke, our young Border/Aussie cross jumped out like his tail was on fire, ran across the yard, traversed several cattle guards and disappeared from sight. Without a doubt Duke decided to exercise the deer because later on his return he was panting excitedly. Well at least Duke found a bright spot for the flash floods! Somehow he had lightened my grief somewhat.

Received notice that my blog has been featured on FeedSpot as one of the top Ranch Life Blogs. I am gratified for the recognition and express my appreciation for this honor.

What Pets Can Teach Us About Aging and Death

Aging and Death, Aging with Dignity, For Love of Animals, Learning From Our Pets, The Wisdom of Pets May 12, 2025 Leave a comment

Our pets have shorter lives than humans, making it possible for us to observe their transitions across their aging spectrum. We can view them mature, grow old, and die. This can be instructive. For me, I’m staring at a formidable eighty years old at my next birthday and am sobered by the fact that by virtually anyone’s standard, I am now old. Despite physically feeling healthy and reasonably vigorous, I cannot completely shut out the concern about the not so stealthy approach of the old man.

As I stare into the formidable aging abyss, I find comfort from the actions and examples of my aging and deceased pets. Allow me to explain.

Mollie was a female Border collie that we acquired shortly before moving to the ranch almost twenty-five years ago. She was a Border collie from working stock and in her youth was a terrific herder. She could also run at an amazing clip. The latter trait was shown one day when I observed her run down a grown white tail deer. Molly had chased the white tail doe across a large pasture and was gaining ground on it when the deer in her panicked state attempted jumping a fence. Instead of clearing the fence, the deer trampolined off the barbed wire fence, landing in front of the paws of my semi-crazed, tongue wagging, blue eyed dog. Of interest to me was that Mollie made no attempt to attack the deer but merely waited for the deer to regain her feet. Soon the all out chase was on again with my deliriously happy hound in fast pursuit.

I mention this anecdote, as it strangely reminded me of my own youth and my own ability to run fast. Watching Mollie brought back proud memories. Of course I was not able to run down deer but was sufficiently agile to be offered track and field scholarships for the sprints and broad jump. Now fast forward twelve years from Mollie’s youth to her older years when she had been diagnosed with cancer. I recall on her last day of life, she wanted to go for her walk even if it proved to be a short one. There was no “give up” in that dog. Mollie lived her life fully, squeezing out all the activity and pleasure she could.

The following night Mollie began as usual sleeping on the floor next to my side of the bed. Sometime during the night, she apparently got up, walked about thirty feet down the hallway, laid down, and peacefully died. I found her cold, lifeless body the next morning. She had stayed engaged with life up until the very end of her life. Is there not a lesson to be learned here?

I’ve been advised by friends on the verge of selling their property in the country and moving to town to consider the same. Another friend questioned my continued efforts in golf lessons and time spent on the practice range, as it was his opinion that our golf games were never likely to improve. He may have been right about the golf scores, but that is not how I roll. Mollie comes to mind. She didn’t roll that way either, so why should I?

Please understand that I am not in denial about getting older, but I’ll do everything I can to fully enjoy my late years. I’ve had cataracts taken off and lens implant placed with excellent results. No more glasses! Recently I suddenly lost most of the hearing in my right ear and required a hearing aid for my left ear and essentially a microphone for my right ear to transfer sounds to my left ear. While the result is far from perfect, it allows me to remain engaged with life. My stamina isn’t what it used to be. Actually it is no where near the same. A nap after lunch has transitioned from a rarity to a necessity. And by the way my loyal, two-year old dog, Duke, never fails to join me for a nap, despite his characteristic boundless energy.

My current thirteen-year old and virtually blind Border collie, Bella, has also demonstrated graceful acquiescence to her aging. One difference in Bella is that when I now stop the pickup for a walk, she remains behind in the cab of the truck while young Duke and I go for a walk. She learned on her final walk several months ago that her limitations were simply too great and that she became too exhausted. Now Bella waits patiently in the truck for us to return, in the interim no doubt sneaking in an extra nap.

Bella has learned the extent of her physical abilities and has adapted to them with a sensible grace. She is accepting of those physical limitations that she can no longer perform. Doing so with calm acceptance and grace is what I’ve observed from my Bella and strive to learn. Yup! No more ladders for me!

The top picture is of the mature Bella and the lower picture is of the old Bella

On that most uncomfortable of all subjects, death, I’ve also learned from my Border collies. Our first dog Bandit who proved responsible for transferring us from a hectic city life to a bucolic ranch life, became old, severely infirm, unable to walk, and finally compassion required that we put him down. He had dearly loved the ranch with its abundant wildlife, scenic views, and cattle to herd.

When finally we deemed it time to let our old Bandit die with his dignity still intact, I placed him in the bed of the pickup, a spot where he had spent so many happy hours. I strategically parked the pickup so that Bandit had a view from the top of the hill and could sense the cattle grazing below. On a warm day with the gentle breezes and amid the songs of birds, our veterinarian facilitated the peaceful passing of our noble Bandit dog.

While the moment was incredibly sad for me, and I bawled my eyes out, I can think of no better way for our beloved pets or we as humans to die than surrounded by natural beauty, memories of outstanding accomplishments, and surrounded by those he/she loved. I can only wish that a graceful ending of my life will occur and that we humans might become as accepting of the inevitable as were my Bandit and Molly.

Perhaps you have observed your pets and gained wisdom from them about life’s mysteries. If so, please let me know what you have learned and share here with other blog readers and pet lovers.

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.

A Duke Reigns at Medicine Spirit Ranch

animal behavior, Animals on the ranch, Border collies, New Dogs April 8, 2025 Comments: 2

Like his royal name suggests, Duke came our home to visit and stayed and in the process anointed a painful emotional scar left by the forced departure of our earlier dog, Beau. Trudy and I had been grieving Beau’s loss for over six months when we received a phone call from our veterinarian’s office, informing us that they needed to re-home a Border collie. The dog in question had refused to stay cooped up in a small backyard located in a town some thirty miles away. The owners,the caller said, simply could no longer keep the escape artist and had given him up to Second Chances, a dog re-homing service. Would we be interested in meeting Duke? The question from the caller was the equivalent of kicking in an already opening door.

Not long after Trudy and I along with our twelve year old Border, Bella, arrived at the vet’s office where we met Duke. He was skittish but friendly. He immediately took to me, so much so that Trudy now refers to Duke as a Velcro dog. Of importance to us was Duke’s behavior toward Bella. He was curious about Bella, but in no way did he bully or harass our old, sweet, and largely blind Bella.

Duke at our first meeting at the vet’s kennel

We learned that Duke had been found wandering about the streets of Mason, Texas where he had been for an unknown length of time. He had weighed only 36 pounds when he had arrived at the vet’s office in Fredercksburg but had gained several additional pounds there. Evidently he had eaten poorly for some time while on the streets or at his prior home. His name had been given by his prior human parents so that we thought it best to maintain it. He was estimated to be around a year old. Duke seemed grateful for new parents, was housebroken, and had been neutered. The decision to keep Duke proved easy. Duke would come live with us at Medicine Spirit Ranch where he could run free.

On closer inspection Duke had a slightly different appearance from our earlier Border collies. He had larger and floppier ears that have proved an endearing feature. Also he sported brown patches over his eyes that we refer to as his eyebrows, something not seen in Border collies. Trudy through a GOOGLE search determined that his appearance fit perfectly for a Border collie/Australian shepherd cross.

Duke’s temperament is that of our prior Border collies, likely because Aussies and Borders are so closely related. He quickly learns tricks, possesses incredible energy, loves to chase jack rabbits and deer, and is protective of his human family. He quickly learns patterns of behavior such as when we dress differently to leave the ranch, he will lose interest. He also loves to take walks about the ranch, ranging far ahead or behind but returning quickly when called. Thus far he has not had close contact with our cattle but shows high interest in the large animals when staring at them through the windshield of the pickup. Once fully settled in, Duke’s herding prowess will be tested when the need arises to move the cattle to different pastures.

To Trudy’s credit, she took Duke for a six week obedience school. He shined in the class, quickly learning the stay, heel, sit, and down commands. He also largely ignored the twenty other dogs. His initial ravenous appetite has settled somewhat, but Duke has gained up to around fifty pounds and has added additional height as well.

Perhaps his greatest pleasures have been two fold. First, he loves to stand on the sink cabinet and watch the birds outside at the bird feeders. He watches them intently, never barking or shooing them.

Secondly, he loves to chase armadillos. For the most part, he simply enjoys herding them. On rare occasion he has grabbed the armadillo in his large mouth and carried it about as a trophy. But Duke has usually released them on command. Unfortunately, he has killed a few armadillos but for the most part seems content to chase, herd, and scare them back into their burrows. For reasons I know not, armadillos are plentiful on our ranch this year. Duke routinely will chase from four to ten on every walk.

Earlier today after Duke prodded me to take a walk on a blustery, cold day, Duke developed great interest near a large water drainage pip running under the “road” on our ranch. I approached to see what had captured his attention. As I peaked over the edge of the hill, I saw a large snake that I estimated to be five to six feet long. It was silvery in color. I became alarmed when it reared up, cobra-like, flicking out his tongue at Duke and me. Its head appeared far too triangular for my satisfaction, although it did not fit the description of any of the four poisonous snakes that live in Texas. On command Duke backed off the snake. The large snake dropped back to the ground and went one way, and Duke and I went the other.

I am in awe of Duke’s agility and speed. To watch him bound across a field of tall grass, zigging and zagging, and bouncing upward while searching for armadillos gives me pleasure. His kinetic energy is nature’s poetry. I find myself recalling my youth when I too could run virtually effortlessness. To see his keen look, excitement, and with his tongue dangling allows me vicariously to enjoy his athleticism and my own long lost ability to run. How often human dog parents must enjoy the abilities of their pets or recognize the modeling of various behaviors common to mankind. We have a truly special bond with our dogs.

So welcome to the ranch Duke. Make yourself comfortable. We have a lot of ground to cover.

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.

Why Dogs Sniff Crotches and How to Discourage It

animal behavior, Crotch Sniffing in Dogs, dog behavior, dogs, Dogs and Humans- A Special Relationship January 30, 2025 Comments: 2

We have a new dog at Medicine Spirit Ranch about whom a future post will be written. Duke our new Border Collie/Australian Shepherd mix who despite many good qualities turns out to be an inveterate crotch sniffer. His nosy behavior (pun intended) is awkward when friends drop by for a visit, as clearly Duke doesn’t respect human boundaries. His nose to the groin behavior prompted me to review why dogs sniff crotches and what can be done about this embarrassing doggie trait. Perhaps you have had a similar experience and wondered as well?

Duke our new Border/Aussie  mix

It is common knowledge that all dogs have a keen sense of smell, but did you know that a dog’s sense of smell is 10,000 times as sensitive as humans? It is this keen sense of smell that makes it possible for them to sniff out drugs, bombs, cancer, bed bugs, insulin levels and even Covid-19 infections. That’s quite a good sniffer!

Mary Beth McAndrews writing for the American Kennel Club also describes how dogs have a special olfactory organ termed a Jacobsen’s organ or vomeronasal organ that is located in the roof of the mouth. It plays a vital role in the dog’s superior sense of smell. The scent-dedicated part of the brain in dogs is forty times as large as in humans. But what is it that dogs are sniffing for?

Dogs sniff for the scent put out by sweat glands also termed apocrine glands, as they release pheromones that convey tremendous amounts of information for canines. The highest concentration of apocrine glands in dogs is found in the genitals and anus, explaining why dogs sniff other dogs’ butts. Apocrine glands in humans are especially prominent in armpits and crotches. Whereas most dogs are too short to sniff human armpits, most focus their keen olfactory attention on crotches for gaining information.

These pheromones inform them for example whether a person has recently had sex, given birth, or if menstruating. In each instance a sniff reveals a higher level of pheromones. These higher levels of pheromones also explains why many dogs tend to steal underwear since these undergarments carry the owner’s scent. Talk about awkward when your pooch parades through a social gathering at your home with your underwear clenched in his teeth!

While dogs love to introduce themselves to other dogs by sniffing the other’s rear end, something gets lost in doggie decorum when they do it to people. To better understand why dogs sniff crotches, it is helpful to understand why they are doing it in the first place. When meeting humans, we can ask relevant questions, but of course dogs can’t speak and must rely on their superior sense of smell. They instead will rush in to do a nose scan of the private areas, leaving behind their wet nose spot on your nicely laundered garment.

According to Rover.com and Dr. Sperry, it is improper to discipline your dog when they get nosy with a guest. The dogs won’t understand your concern, understand what they did wrong, or comprehend what you would wish for them to do differently. Dr. Sperry instead advises a more polite outlet by redirecting their sniffing behavior.

One example of redirecting is to teach your dog to sit when guests enter the house. By doing so your guest will have time to extend a hand for sniffing (plenty of apocrine glands in the palms of hands exist) rather than providing an unguarded opening for a crotch sniff. Another more guest friendly approach is to teach your dog to a High-Five. This is a particularly cute trick that will undoubtedly invite praise from your guests.

To train a dog to give a High-Five, place a dog treat in your fist and hold it out head high to your dog. Eventually your dog will paw your hand and allow you to reward him/her with the treat hidden within your fist. By rewarding your dog with praise, a treat, and a verbal “High-Five”, the trick can be learned. Our new dog Duke, learned the trick in only three repetitions (a little bragging here). A verbal cue can usually be learned quickly, making the trick both diverting and praiseworthy.

Of course taking your dog on a long walk with ample time for nose work may also prove helpful. Gaining opportunity to sniff will reduce the need for crotch sniffing. Myriad objects in the outdoors will tantalize your dog’s Jacobsen’s organ and allow for more socially acceptable nosework.

And please keep in mind that when your dog sniffs a crotch, it is not trying to be rude. Instead it is only trying to learn more about the person. Crotch sniffing is in the doggie world is more like a handshake or introductory human banter. Let’s be gentle with our pouches and redirect crotch sniffing in a more socially acceptable way.

What Dogs Teach Us

Animal Adaptability, Dogs and Aging, Uncategorized, What Dogs Teach Us October 28, 2024 1 Comment

We teach our dogs tricks, but hubris may prevent us from recognizing what dogs can teach us. During my numerous trips around the sun and from watching my canine friends age, I’ll admit to a few things I’ve learned from my dogs.

If you will just listen, I can teach you a few things!

Lately, I’ve observed Bella, my Border collie, changing some of her behaviors. As Bella has aged, she has developed Diabetes. Her Diabetes has clouded her eyes, similar to the cataracts I developed and had surgically removed. Due to her low vision, I’ve observed Bella bumping into doors and fences. When Bella and I take walks on the ranch, she has taken to trailing me by scent with her nose to the ground and with cocked ears, listening for my footsteps. Both are good adaptations to her visual loss.

Bella as a healthy puppy, full of vigor and promise

I am struck by her seeming calm acceptance of her sensory loss. Also I admire her desire to continue walks about the ranch, albeit it at a slower pace and requiring her other more intact senses to manage the task. She doesn’t seem to get upset with herself when bumping into objects but accepts her diminished vision with grace. The line from the Desiderata by Max Ehrmann comes to mind, “Take kindly the counsel of the years, gracefully surrendering the things of youth.” The writer rendered good advice, and Bella has modeled surrendering gracefully for me.

Look closely at Bella’s cloudy eyes that vets refer to as nuclear sclerosis

Frankly, Bella has modeled this behavior better than I. A number of times friends have asked me given my age if I ever consider selling the ranch and moving to an easier life in town? Or I’ve been asked, would I consider cutting back on my ranch activities? Certainly, the amount of work that is required in keeping up the ranch would be less if I were to sell it, and the injuries suffered from being around large animals would certainly be reduced. Yet my sheer enjoyment of the ranch with its views, purpose, and peacefulness prevents me from making drastic changes in my ranch activities. But in recognition of my growing physical limitations, I have learned to ask my ranch hand for more help when my loss of speed and balance would place me at greater risk.

Bella is now twelve years old. In dog years this makes her 84 years old. She certainly is not the energetic, athletic dog of her youth. Bella is now content to curl up in her place in the sun and snooze away the day. I too have found the comfort of a nap after lunch, and Bella and I often partake of a nap together in the afternoon. We still enjoy a walk late in the afternoon, but both of us take longer to recover from the exercise than we did earlier in our lives.

Bella now spends an inordinate amount of time napping

As Bella has aged, I’ve noticed her becoming increasingly dependent on Trudy and me. She now requires a boost when jumping into my pickup. She also needs help getting onto my elevated bed in order to take her afternoon nap. Bella no longer pays attention, or perhaps even sees, deer meandering through our yard or varmints on the ranch. I recall in earlier days when she and Jack, our rescue dog, would tear into marauding armadillos. It wasn’t pretty, but demonstrated amazing mutual hunting skills and athleticism. Armadillos by the way, can really run!

I suppose as we age, we all need to accommodate to diminishing physical skills whether it is wrestling calves, mowing the yard, or replacing light bulbs from a ladder. Avoidance of certain activities reduces risk of injury and are better left alone. This makes sense, but admittedly can be hard for humans, especially men, to accept.

While her physical skills have diminished with Bella’s aging, her love and extreme loyalty have only increased. She has taken to following me around the house, moving with me from room to room. She appears uneasy when not with me and will, with nose to ground, seek me out wherever I am. As I write this, Bella lies beside my desk, placed in such a way that I cannot leave my desk without having to alert her by stepping over her. She seems to gain pleasure from being with me, perhaps for protection or merely for the love and affection she receives.

Bella almost ended up as a show dog and owned by a man in South America. We like to think we gave her a happier life on the ranch. Her name means beautiful in Italian and fits her well

Likewise, my desire for companionship and spending time with friends has also increased as I’ve aged. I’ve always been a person who needed human (and animal) companionship. Nevertheless, if I don’t have human or animal contact, I find myself missing it, even more so than in my earlier years.

I recall an earlier Border collie of ours named Molly who grew old and ill. The vet assumed she had cancer but she was still up and about and enjoying life to some extent. Shortly after seeing the vet, I awoke in the morning and found Molly dead on the floor not far from me. Molly accepted her illness with great stoicism, a strong trait in Border collies. The vet was embarrassed and regretted not offering to put her down earlier. I felt there was no need for his embarrassment, having witnessed the incredible stoicism of my serial Border collies.

I often recall Molly’s stoicism and that of my other Border collies when I hear aging human friends recount their numerous ailments. Jokingly, I refer to their complains by medical terminology as their “review of systems.” I hope that I will be able to retain a degree of Border collie stoicism in light of advancing aches and pains and potentially more serious health problems that undoubtedly will come with advancing age.

“Hey, we’ve taught you as well,” Jack and Buddy say! Jack in the front seat, Buddy and Bella in the bed of the Gator

The lovely aspect of having serial dogs throughout my life is that with their shorter life expectancy I’ve observed the maturation and behavioral changes due to their aging. I’ve observed many cycles with my many dogs. Any teacher will share the importance of repetition for learning. My dogs have provided me healthy examples of how to age gracefully and model acceptance of life’s inevitable changes. For this I am most grateful.

Bella and I giving each other a big hug with a jealous Jack looking on and Buddy in the shadow at my feet

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.

Cow Days of Summer

animal behavior, Are Cows Smart?, How cattle beat the heat, How Cows deal with Summer Heat August 24, 2024 1 Comment

This past week has been the hottest of the year with highs up to 104 Fahrenheit in the shade. The animals and people at Medicine Spirit Ranch are wilting and making their best efforts to avoid becoming overheated.
For the first time I have have spotted one heifer spending most of her time during the day standing up to her belly in a shady spring-fed creek. She has appeared happy with her cool aqueous location and pays me little attention when I approach her.
Who says all cows are dumb? I admire this mama cow for figuring this cooling strategy out. I too have been taking dips in our small backyard pool but never thought a cow would use the same strategy to cool off.


The cows arise early at daybreak before it gets too hot. They graze until the temperature climbs before retreating to shady spots. They usually head for groves of trees, particularly the Texas Pecan trees that provide the most shade. There they lay or stand throughout the hottest part of the day before heading out to graze again at the end of the day.


A cow or perhaps the bull will end up with babysitting duties with many calves throughout the hottest portion of the day. As if by signal, the calves will return late in the day to suckle their mamas before bedding down for the night. They sleep in a large group, presumably for safety reasons from predators.
Fortunately, this summer has provided ample green grass for the cows. The pastures benefited greatly from early summer rains. The rancher also benefited by not having to put out hay during late summer when the green grass typically turns brown and becomes too short to graze.

The phrase “dog days of summer” derives from astronomy. Dog days originated in ancient Roman times when people noticed that the star Sirius (known as the dog star in the “Big Dog Constellation” because of its extreme brightness) would rise with the sun from July to August.

Since our dog Bella sleeps during the daytime in an air conditioned house, “dog days of summer” somehow just doesn’t fit. Our cows best exemplify the lassitude that comes with the summer’s heat.

But do astronomical references to cows exist? Well, glad you asked and yes they do.

Cow supernovae are a newly-labeled subclass of the explosive events, which occur when giant stars reach the end of their lives; they run out of fuel and collapse, triggering powerful explosions. Depending on the original star’s size, the explosion can give birth to either a black hole or a neutron star. We can thank Mr. GOOGLE for this information.

Stay cool if you can.

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.

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.

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.

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 Comments: 3

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.