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Pucker Brush Bliss

Dog romp in progress

Me and the black face dog are just about back to a normal schedule after 2 weeks of helter skelter with a workover rig and a flowback crew hangin’ out here. Makes me realize why most gates have a couple in residence.

I was glad to see ’em go – no time for morning and evening dog romps, no time to cook up somethin’ decent, no time to get

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Everything Happens for a Reason

It was the day after Christmas and my butt was planted in the Big Ass Suburban headed up north 60 miles. I told a local fella where I was headed and the what-for and he said “Aye God, that is a rough little burg!” He was born and raised in Dilley, TX and he said that back in the 70’s when Dilley played this town in football it was the dreaded game of the season.

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Gods of the Copybook Headings*

Day’s Dawning at The Porch House Gate

Ed. note: Jumping up every few minutes to check in a vehicle does not promote coherency when attempting to write. Take it for what it is.

It is away from the Porch House Gate for myself and a loyal dog. Six weeks they said as far as our expected tenure; it was six weeks and three days. I can’t complain. The good news for those

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Another - Dispatch from the Secret Hideout

The Hideout

Along about the seventh day of our time off I was trying to remember why we should go back to the Pucker Brush anyway. It certainly wasn’t the standing ankle deep in suckish mud while caliche dust simultaneously caked your eyes. Or trying to remember the Spanglish for ‘Slow yer ass down.’ Or tieing the garbage to the generator so it wouldn’t blow off toward Lubbock. You know it is time

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