Oh gosh, those poor little prairie dogs

West Texas is not generally known as a bastion for PETA, although you wouldn’t be able to tell that based on the reaction to the recent rash of animal-related crimes and distasteful happenings.

When an emu gets strangled, we are quite upset. And if a rancher lets 300 horses nearly expire in a Presidio County stockyard, that offends us. Pet cats getting dismembered horrifies us, a dog getting shot with a crossbow drives us near into a blind rage.

And then the city of Odessa goes out and slaughters wholesale a prairie dog colony, and everyone is about ready to just go nuts and burn down city hall.

It really doesn’t make a whole lot of sense, though, does it?

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For Easter, children and the spring that hopes eternal

I’ve said before that I hate spring, and I do.

This is not the climate or location for it, even in the best years.

For the longest time, I thought the smoke from all of the wildfires was just the usual dust blowing in the air, the brown particle overcast of West Texas common to the season. It’s too dry to keep down the dirt, and that’s true, yet it’s now too dry for there to be much left unburnt except for dust, it sometimes seems lately.

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No, we shouldn’t really make junior high kids smoke

The other day I went to visit my parents’ home to say hello and pick up some mail that fails to migrate with me to new residences.

As I parked and walked up to the door, I went across their lawn and first thought they’d started laying down straw before I realized it was grass, or used to be.

“Wow,” I said when I got inside. “You’re sure taking this water-restriction thing serious, aren’t you?”

My dad said, “What water restrictions?”

(He didn’t really.)

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