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Long before I’d ever heard of a Dr. Doolittle, I was talking with animals. Or at least, I was trying to communicate with ’em.

It’s a guarantee. I mean a guar-own-danged-tee that if a major sporting event takes place in our great state of Texas, viewers of the televised event are going to see one of only two things on their TV screens during commercial breaks and lead-ins:

If all the Thanksgivings in my life put together a “Greatest Hits” collection, there sure would be a lot of people involved. Family. Friends. Strangers extending kindness in the form of a meal.

I remember as a young boy getting my hands on a copy of “Outdoor Life” magazine. After reading it from cover-to-cover, looking at the drawings and photos, I was toast. One coulda stuck a fork in me. I was that done.

When the Founding Fathers of our great state were looking for a state capitol, they had a short list of requirements. It needed to be big, it needed to be pretty and it needed to be close to some live music. Apparently, the old campfire harmonica player was getting on everyone’s last nerve.

My lovely bride had just gathered a collection of beautiful seashells down by the seashore. She knows all about hermit crabs, so before keeping one of her treasures, she made sure to check for occupancy first. She looked inside each shell, even tossing a “Hello. Anybody home?” inside the front doors.

The first time I took someone golfing with me who wasn’t actually a golfer, I loaded my daughter Jaime, then around 4 years old, into a golf cart with me as I headed out for a round. My birthday is in May, and I’d gotten the round as a gift.

I’ve been around long enough to witness a ton of fashion and other trends as they’ve come and gone.

You’ve probably heard the philosophical question, “If a tree falls in the forest and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound?”