It’s the Hound of the Puckerbrush, and there’re no moors of any type down there with Andy in dryland southwest Texas. Nor is Sherlock Holmes lurking about on this Halloween night. And, lucky for Andy, in all probability no clowns neither.
Just another good essay on life as an oil field gate guard with a new dog and a whole year’s relief from “a worthless harridan,” which you could look up in his search function. Libel suits are not my thing.
As for the clowns, they are one reason I’m not enthusiastic about handing out candy this year and will keep the porch lights off here at the rancho. Yes, there have been a few clown sightings hereabouts, not specifically in our neighborhood but in the general geography. If one of them is going to get shot, this will be the night.