FICTION? It’s a memoir, Mama! Why do I have to lie and call it “Fiction”? If this is fiction, what in Sam Hill is truth? I know. I know...It’s because I’m a dog, right? Well, that’s just pure-D species-ism! Fine. Call it what you want. A rose by any other name would smell as sweet. Friends, I wrote this book about what life’s like here on the outskirts of May, Texas. I figured lots of people might be curious. They probably never even heard of the Mayans—folks so enamored with six-man football that they’d never live anywhere else. Then there’re the snow birds drawn here by the curious weather and Underwood’s BBQ. There might even be the occasional rube in the Witness Protection Program exiled to ride out the remainder of his life safely hidden under the X in Texas. Then, there’s me and my family. Mama and Poppy chose to live here because it’s heaven. I live here because I’m lucky. This book is about my family and our stories. It’s about life here in the heart of Texas, in all its glory. It’s rich.
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