Some of these sto­ries are for adults only . If you are under eigh­teen or offended by por­tray­als of the human con­di­tion, please go else­where. But if you dis­re­gard this warn­ing and con­tinue, don’t com­plain to me. See a psy­chol­o­gist, or a priest, or com­plain to your mother if all else fails. She will com­fort you and hold your hand.

Sur­rounded by an ungrate­ful pack of stray dogs, three very ancient horses, and a wife of inde­ter­mi­nate age, Dean West lives high in New Mexico’s San­gre De Cristo Moun­tains. At the age of 65, he writes short fic­tion, a hodge­podge of sto­ries, rang­ing from his birthright in rural Texas to sail­ing the waters of Baja. His style is as unkempt as a Tijuana golf course yet his voice embod­ies a raw hon­esty, a can­dor his read­ers have come to expect.