Starting the world’s first and only jackalope guide service was a dream come true for me. I poured over the literature and applicable tax forms to make my business a legitimate one. Unfortunately, the screening process, done after the initial $10,000 application fee, proved to be too much for all of my applicants so I sat, unhappily raking in the cash while the horned daemons ran amok, no hunters in tow. I could see them in my mind’s eye, taunting me with their voracious blood lust for cinnamon toast crunch and destruction. They knew I would be after them, but they also knew I’d have to wait until an applicant deemed themselves worthy for the hunt.
The ringing in of 2015 came with a bang in our desert homestead; literally, as the transformer right outside our back window blew up in a cloud of fire, accompanied by a magnificent BOOM that far surpassed the lesser explosions of the multitudinous fireworks being set off at the same time by a gaggle of the most patriotic West Texans around, for the light show was equal to, if not slightly smaller than those on Fourth of July and Christmas day, celebrating the real reason why we’re all here.
The Writing huntress
I hunt. I write. I wear what some consider an unnecessary amount of camouflage face paint.