This is a book by and about shor-nuf cowboys and their life and times in SW Texas.

It is simple reading with complex messages in it, going back to the time when a man was only as good as his word.

Each chapter is tale unto itself, although many of them are related with the same characters. I'm sure if you're from the Uvalde area, some of them would be familiar to you or your fathers.

If you're from anywhere in country Texas or have had any dealings with real cowboys I think you will find this book a fun read. I am almost certain that you will break out laughing at times when you read it and may shed a tear as well.

I am so confident in this that if you buy it and don't think it was a good read, send it to me and I'll pay you the price of the book. Shipping will be on you. BTW I don't know Mr. Stoner personally (but I am sorry for that and wish I did) nor do I have anything to gain from the sale of his books.

A short selection: D.W. an aged rancher, a lead character in many of the stories, has found Yeller Boy, his old, and best dog he ever had dead from a gunshot on his porch......he buries him in his favorite spot in his wife's garden.....

quote:

"Mad, son, you understand how mad I was. All the time I was a-diggin' his grave I was plannin' a what I was a-goin to do to the fellar that shot him. My first thought was to shoot him and see how his family felt when he come crawlin' home shot right through the middle.

My next thought was to get some of mine and Yeller Boy's friends and just hang him to a big old live oak tree. But that would have been too easy an out for a fellar that killed a man's best dog.

I hunted high and low for any signs or information that would lead to his killer. Weeks went by, and not a clue could I find, but I didn't give up.

Months have passed with no leads, and as time passes I'm not as mean-minded as I was. But whoever it was ain't a-gonna get away with it.

I decided to get me one of them big old baseball bats and when I find the culprit I'm gonna sneak up on him and knock him in the head. Then I'm gonna beat on him 'til I plum give out. Iffen he lives or dies, that's his problem."

D.W. dropped his head and said in a somewhat milder voice, "Son, I'm 80 years old and I'm too old to fight fair."

My after thought: All you dog killers better lay low.