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Spend a little time with Mark Littell and you will hear stories that leave you wondering, could that really happen? Spend a bit more time with him and you realize, oh, it absolutely could!
Before he pitched for the Royals and the Cardinals, Mark Littell’s character was formed on a cotton and soybean farm in the Missouri Bootheel. Growing up was a wild ride for Mark, full of family, fun, and more than a little mischief.
His second book, Country Boy Conveniently Wild, gives the reader a better understanding of where Mark came from: the Bootheel of Missouri. Mark grew up in redneck country and this book engages the reader with character shaping, life altering stories from his childhood. This book will take you through the many malfunctions of Mark’s early life, and introduce you to the folks who kept him in line and showed him the ropes.
Excerpts from Country Boy Conveniently Wild
We were curious, mischievous, and just down right ornery sometimes. I’m sure I’ll have animal rights activists camped at my door after this book comes out. Aw, well. Read on and take a ride through some of the best farmland in the world, and follow the adventures of a Country Boy: Conveniently Wild.
Sunday Rat Killin’
Our method was simple: we took five gallons of gas and five gallons of diesel, then poured them down the hole and waited for the rats to come out. Farm gas only cost about $0.28 a gallon and diesel was even less, so for about $2.50 you could literally have a blast. When a lot of rats would come out, that’s when it got fun.
Each of us carried a baseball bat or a machete, and when these suckers came out drenched in this concoction of gas and diesel, they would scurry around in circles, blinded. We’d beat the s*** out of ’em or chop ’em up with the machete. Our dog Fritz got in the action too. He’d grab one and flip it up in the air or put it back into play where Eric and I could get back in the action. What a dog, he could really hunt!
One thing about dynamite, it doesn’t just go “boom”…it can roar. A loud, angry noise that’s meaner than any cat in the jungle. The ground we were standing on rattled, shaking every inch of me like I was on a carnival ride. Then the fireworks started.
You could feel almost every stick go off. One, two, three, four…all the way up to eighteen sticks of fiery dynamite.
As the debris settled, the roar of the explosion faded into a nasty sizzling sound, I turned to Eric with wide eyes.