My First Dog: Bandit

Bandit at age 4

Young Bandit, maybe 1-2

I'm not sure how I've gotten this far without writing about my very first dog, Bandit. This post is probably going to make me seem hypocritical. Everyone knows I am opposed to giving dogs as Christmas presents. I should throw a "generally" in there somewhere. I believe there are exceptions to this position. Dogs are not objects or accessories to be "gifted" willy nilly. They are living breathing creatures that deserve serious contemplation and commitment. I wholeheartedly believe that it is inappropriate to give another person an animal for Christmas, any other holiday, or as a gift in general. However, I don't see anything wrong with a family deciding it's the right time to bring a pet into the home as long as the decision is made together by everyone and with the promise to provide a loving home for the pet for its entire life. My situation probably falls somewhere in the middle of these scenarios.

Me & Bandit at ages 8 & 2

I got Bandit for Christmas when I was six years old. To date, he is the best Christmas present I have ever gotten. My sister and I had finished opening all of our gifts and were sprawled out on the floor playing with our new stuff when something licked my toes. I couldn't believe there was a real live puppy looking at me on Christmas morning. We almost named him Beethoven (this was 1994, mind you), but we settled on Bandit since he reminded us of Johnny Quest's dog in the cartoon (except the cartoon Bandit wasn't a Boston Terrier).

Me & Bandit at ages 9 & 3

Bandit was not a rescue, but bought from a backyard breeder. He was a chronically ill dog. He had demodectic mange as a very young pup, struggled with seizures throughout his whole life, had severe degenerative arthritis that began at middle age and led to one of his front legs being badly deformed and crippled, and ultimately developed Cushing's disease that led to kidney dysfunction. He even had a heart attack about a year before he died and collapsed in howling pain. Bandit had poor health across the board from day 1 as a result of irresponsible breeding.

My mom always told us how although he was the runt of the litter, she first saw him standing on top of the breeder's couch with a defiant look on his face as though he ruled the joint. This pretty much sums up his personality: bold, belligerent, fierce, independent, cantankerous, tirelessly mischievous, and asocial. He never cared for the company of other people or dogs. He only ever liked me. Over the years, Bandit had become so clearly "my dog" that my mom decided to get my brother and sister their own dogs to make up for it. Bandit was an unabashed troublemaker. He ate our pet turtle. He was a complete chocolate-monger (my mom kept a bowl of assorted Lindt truffles on the dining room table and we found Bandit on the table, sorting through the bowl only choosing the peanut butter flavored chocolates, carrying them to the corner of the table and piling them up...no joke). He ate foamy toads. He burst through a screen door in pursuit of a dog twice his size and had to get his brow stitched up. He ate an entire platter of Christmas cookies at the ripe old age of 12 and nosed the glass platter off the table to its shattered demise so that my brother got blamed for it. He taught the other dogs how to smash through the brick foundation of the house to escape. He ate snacks from people's purses and food straight out of their hands. His antics were endless and never ill-planned. I loved his spirit. He was just great.

Middle-aged Bandit

Pizza Thief at 12 years old

Sleeping Senior Bandit

Bandit moved to Tallahassee with me when I went to college. Nothing had changed; we were still the best of buds, partners in crime. He was my security blanket and our bond grew even stronger as he grew ancient and sicker than ever. Senior dogs have a special place in my heart after nursing Bandit through his final years. He was so feeble and deformed looking; my mom called him Rasputin. 

We went home for Christmas break in 2007. Bandit was 13 and a half years old. I had been out with friends for several hours on December 27. When I came home, I found Bandit lying on a comforter on my bedroom floor. I knew he wasn't right. I knew this was it. Everyone thought I was being dramatic until he had a massive seizure. It was the worst I'd ever seen and it was clear it was the end. He tried to move, but couldn't. He lost control of his bodily functions. We got in the car and drove him to the emergency vet about thirty minutes away. Bandit took his last breath in my arms on the way to the clinic. It was horrible, but I was glad it was over. His final battle had lasted almost two hours and it was a relief to see him at peace. The hardest part was leaving him there at the clinic that night, all alone on that cold table. The only thing I could think about was that I had kicked him out of bed and made him sleep on the floor the night before because he was crowding me. I'll never forget that. I hope he forgave me for being so insensitive. I know he waited for me to come home that night. I kept telling him I would be ok without him now and thanking him for all his years of steadfast loyalty. He knew he could finally let go.

Bandit's Coat

I wore his fuzzy dog coat around my neck at home like a fruitcake for two weeks after he died. I had Bandit cremated and his ashes put inside a beautiful hand-carved box. He would have wanted it that way; he hated the dirt and the outside. He was a fussy critter and he had an air about him that let everyone know he was regal. I put his "good dog" collar charm and an honorary peanut butter Lindt truffle inside his box with his ashes. Hopefully he approves.

Me & My Old Man

Bandit's Ashes

I was six years old when we got Bandit and my sister was three. We knew nothing except that we finally had a dog and we loved him more than anything. So yeah, Bandit's story pretty much goes against everything I now stand for, but I was a child and he was my best friend. Bandit had a very loving life, but so many others like him aren't as lucky. Our story had a happy ending, yet I'm still sitting here begging everyone out there to ADOPT and not shop and please do not "gift" pets. This should mean something. There are so many purebred dogs in shelters today, unwanted and dreaming of a loving home. If that's what you really want, I beg you to please give one of them a chance instead of supporting the endless cycle of backyard breeding and puppy mills that have led to our overpopulation problem today. Please do not abandon your senior pet in their old age when they need you the most. Honor the commitment you made to them and stick by their side until the end. They'd do the same for you without question. As I type this post and look through Bandit's scrapbook, I voice this wish in his memory hoping to honor the loyalty and friendship he gave me for almost 14 years. Bandit, you will be forever loved and missed!