I was living in Mexico and visiting Isla Mujeres for a few days. My partner at the time and I were looking to dive with whale sharks. The whale sharks had other ideas. When we returned from our time at sea, later in the evening, we bought some food at a Chedraui and brought it back to our hotel to nosh.
It was shoulder season, and we were the only folks in the hotel. Quiet time. She and I are both readers. She buried her face in her book. I went looking for one worth opening. The hotel had a small lending library of VHS tapes, DVDs, and books. Nothing in the library turned my crank. But as I was leaving, I saw a battered old hardcover sitting in the trash. It was covered in black mold, and a good chunk of its back cover was missing.
We lived so far out in West Texas that the sun knocked a brick out of the fireplace every time it went down.
That was the first thing I read when I opened Wallace O. Chariton's This Dog'll Hunt to a random page. It's a 227-page-long dictionary of Texasisms. I promise you, there's something in this book that's perfect for just about any situation, provided you want said situation to sound like it's being handled by Foghorn Leghorn. I pick it up and read a bit of it every morning. I suppose I hope that the whimsy will worm its way into my brain and stay there. As I've had the thing for close to three years, I'd say I'm likely well on my way.
I've tried to find a new copy of the book, but it looks like it's out of print. The best source I've been able to rustle up is AbeBooks. They've got a few different options to invest in. If it sounds like it might be your thing, you'll want to grab a copy before they're gone. Otherwise, you'll be as sad as a dog whose family moved off an' left him
Image via Séamus Bellamy
