Stories

Fog blankets the soybean field every morning at sunrise.

Alone with my thoughts. Alone too often? Maybe. My phone rings.

I did. I’ll admit it. It’s been a month since I last published and it’s been eating the hell out of me. I lost track. Life got in the way, my focus shifted, and before I knew it, distraction and resistance had me in its nasty little grip. Old beliefs started to resurface. I felt locked in a room with a speaker blaring things like, “You’re not good enough,” and “Of course this happened to you.” This is the lie I told myself: “I should feel bad about doing something I enjoy because all of my atten

Let’s talk, you and I. Let’s talk about best friends. What makes a best friend? As I write this, it's a little after 9 pm. It’s raining outside, and the winds blowing an overgrown palm tree into the side of our red tin roof. I'm sitting up on the bed with my elbow resting on Mud’s butt as he’s snoring asleep. Dirt’s on the floor to my left. I can feel him when I let my arm hang off the… You still there? Sorry. Dirt jumped on the bed and sat on my chest, knocking the computer from my lap. He like

Effervescent. Eff-er-vesent. Effervescent. Rendezvous. Ren-dez-vous. Rendezvous. I can’t pronounce them. I can’t spell them. I can’t stand them. Just look at them. All bougie with their mix of similar sounding phonetic consonants, full words, and my personal favorite, the tacky gem of them all, “hidden letters.” Get real. Let’s take Effervescent. First, just look at it. It’s got a couple “f’s” which sound similar to “v” and then the entire word “scent” at the end. Yet the definition ain’t got on

I’m 36, single, with no kids, and I'll be the last Small if I don’t have a son. I stumbled across this fun fact a few years ago on ancestry.com while working on my first manuscript and needed to build out our family tree. Research, I guess. It feels so egotistical to talk about. Even writing that made me cringe a little. Like I’m so important that everyone’s watching. “I do wish you would hurry up and get to work, son.” My mother will occasionally say. But besides her wanting more grandkids, nob

I went to college when I was twenty-five, and here's what I learned.

Dirt was a disaster as a puppy. The third day after I brought him home, I took him to the vet.

We ain't real into mathematics over here at the Dirty House.

THEIR ROLES WERE instantly defined. Dirt was in charge, and Mud wanted to be just like him. Conversation over. As I look back on the photos of Mud's first week in our lives, I’m reminded of how I could feel a noticeable shift in Dirt's personality. Dirt enjoyed his new role. He loved showing Mud the ropes, and Mud enjoyed not having to question how to navigate the new world unfolding before him. Mud had a blueprint.

If it’s alright with you, I’d like to try something. I’d like to try splattering a few non-related paragraphs, varying in topic, on the page today and see where we end up. Sound good? Good. Let’s get started… I’ve had to train Dirt to be calm. Let me repeat. I’ve had to train Dirt to be calm. Calm. A word I never gave much thought to the first chunk of my life. Calm. It’s even peaceful to say. Let’s say it out loud. Calm. Once more, and say it with me this time. Calm. Nice, isn’t it? I know. It’

We’re lucky. We live in Dog Disney World. Just outside the door is a dreamland for dogs. There are endless amounts of critters to chase and smell, toys to ride on and run alongside, and a constantly changing landscape. The possibilities of what could be just outside the door or what critter has broken the perimeter keep me in constant motion—I can’t shut off my mind. Can you relate?

Dirt's favorite way to burn calories is running in front of the four-wheeler on the farm trails. He tries to average two miles a day. A mile at sunrise and a mile at sunset. He spends the middle of the day frisbee catchin’, practicing tricks, and researching his dissertation – trying to solve the Riemann Hypothesis… Whatever that means. Mud, however, prefers to ride on the back of the four-wheeler. He’ll hop off occasionally and roll in some deer or armadillo excrement to freshen up but he ain’t

Owning a Cowdog means you’re required to go outside. Every day. No exceptions. And I’m not talking about just using the bathroom – I’m talking full-on exercise. So when it’s cold and dumping rain, you better put on your raincoat and get ready to wash some towels. And nothing brings out a Dirty, Muddy paw print like a shiny white porcelain tile floor. At first, I couldn’t stand it. Constantly mopping up after the perfect trail of wet paw prints leading to the sofa, the kitchen, then back to the s

Well, here we are. Right smack dab in the middle. Today marks six months of consistently publishing a story every Monday of this year. So, I thought it might be fun to share some of the things we’ve learned, along with things we need to work on and goals for the remainder of the year. I’ve never attempted to do a recap like this in any area of my life, and I have to say, after writing it out, I found it profoundly beneficial. I highly recommend it. Let’s go!

My friend, Kimberly Stuart once told me to never start a chapter or section with dialogue. And so, being the transgressive and investigative friend I am, the first thing I did was scour through her novel, Sugar, which I keep on my desk and grab anytime I need a little inspo for a witty and vibrant description (her specialty) and searched every section, chapter, and transition hoping to find just one that started with those two pesky little quotation marks. It didn’t take long before I gave up. K

When Faith Hill told an interviewer that moving to Nashville was the reason for her success, Taylor Swift took note. She asked her mom if they could visit. Mrs. Swift said yes. Taylor recorded a demo, and they drove around Nashville, stopping at publishing companies and record labels. Taylor would run inside, hand her contraband to the front desk, and say, “Hi. I’m Taylor. I want a record deal. Call me.” Then would jump back in the car with her mom and continue making the rounds. Most 11-year-ol

It’s 5 pm on Sunday and I’m just sitting down to write. It’s been a busy month over here at the Dirty house, I’m sure y’all can relate. Seems to me everybody’s feeling a little worn down. Burned out. Too much trying to keep up and not enough signs saying “keep out.” Each week, I set out to write an article or story loosely based on the question,“What can we learn from our dogs?” Sometimes, the lessons come fairly easily, while others are a stretch at best.

WHY IS MOVING dishes from the sink to the dishwasher the most grueling task on the planet? Because we invented a dishwasher, that’s why. These types of conundrums cause my brain to blow a fuse. I completely black out—a total grid failure. Do you want to hear a phrase that’s caused more damage to vocal chords than cheap red wine and Marlboro lights? – “Will you please put your dirty dishes in the dishwasher!?” Why aren’t we all suing the heavy cycle off of these appliance manufacturers for false

In his book Atomic Habits, James Clear outlines his Four Laws for Behavior Change, which we can use to build better habits. While James knows his stuff regarding human behavior concerning habit change, I thought it might be fun to take a stab at how these laws appear in our canine buddies and what they can teach us. The Obvious We humans love to complicate things, especially things that are known for their simplicity, such as communication. Humans are empathetic creatures for the most part, so w

In the small beach town of El Palmarcito, El Salvador, the nights are cool and crisp. The Gutiérrez brothers are asleep in their hammocks hung between the teak wood pillars of their run-down rancho-style home their late father, Humberto Sr., built nearly three decades prior. Chico awoke to his dog, Camino, a light brown coated, black-masked Beagle mix, licking his left-hand dangling from his hammock. Chico opened one eye and scratched Camino on the head to greet him. “Hola, Camino.” Chico mutter

Thomas Hall poured a cup of steaming hot coffee into his dented and scratched tin mug.

On the outskirts of Rogers Cove, near the last turn of the river Angus, lived a boy named Percy. One evening, just before supper, young Percy was skipping rocks on the Angus, when he noticed something strange. The sky across Humble Valley began to change color. The quiet mountain air began to fill with the sounds of honking horns, shouting voices, and clinging metal. It was the mountain city of Excess.