Dwayne called.

A typical voice mail from our good buddy Dwayne. Transcribed. Verbatim.

"Jeremy this is Dee-you-wayne. I just wanna let you know I'm sorry I didn't get by to visit with you Monday when you were out there workin' on your place. I, ah, I kinda got on a witch hunt, uh, you know those ribs that I cooked for us were just about the last straw to cook them on those lil' New Braunfel smokers so I was goin' on the hunt for 'em. And I hunted and I found, well, a friend of mine owns a welding shop, owns one that he wants to sell on a trailer. Told him I didn't want a trailer cuz that means everyone'd borrow it from me. Anyway I ended up buyin' it, well I ended up "stealin'" it. Weighs about 700lbs and you can easily get like 6 briskets on it. Big 'ol square firebox about a quarter inch steel. But anyway, ah, I guess you know what that means! I gotta check it out and see if it's worth a damn! So lemme know if you guys gonna be out at your place this next weekend. I might go fetch a big 'ol brisket or somethin' and throw it on. I'm lettin' it season as we talk. And, anyway, gimme a holler whenever you get a chance."

I can't count a single conversation we've shared with this man that hasn't somehow included brisket, smoking meat, or feeding us. Damn fine cow-less cowboy.