Welcome to Katy Bill, Loosyaner — I’m Betsy Broussard
Somebody has to keep track of what Elbert Dale Hoss gets up to. Unfortunately, that somebody is me.
My name is Betsy LeAnne Broussard. I’m thirty-five years old, I run Betsy’s Burger Barn and Betsy’s Stop-N-Go, and I’ve spent most of my natural life dealing with a man named Elbert Dale Hoss.
Around here, everybody calls him Lil Hoss.
Now, before you get the wrong idea, Elbert ain’t a bad man. He’s got a good heart, a thousand acres of farmland, more dolla bills than good sense, and a remarkable ability to turn an ordinary Tuesday into something the sheriff needs to know about.
He’s also thirty-five years old.
I mention that because people sometimes assume I’m talking about a child when I tell them what Elbert’s done.
I am not.
He’s a grown-ass man.
A Little About Lil Hoss
Elbert can run a farm. He can operate machinery. He can cook a decent meal when he ain’t getting creative with the ingredients.
But put that same man in a situation involving everyday human understanding, and there’s no telling where we’ll end up.
Elbert doesn’t own a computer. Doesn’t have a smartphone. Doesn’t use the internet.
He’s got a landline telephone, which he considers perfectly sufficient.
He also figures that when somebody calls the house, they must want to talk to the house. Otherwise, why would they call it?
And that, dear reader, is the sort of reasoning I’ve been living with since childhood.
The worst part is that Elbert never thinks he’s being funny.
He’s completely sincere.
The Company He Keeps
There’s Gizmo, his little dog, who generally has more sense than his owner.
There’s Paul the Possum, who lives in a shed behind the farmhouse and has somehow become one of Elbert’s closest companions.
There’s Clyde, a raccoon who wears a fedora, drives Elbert’s daddy’s old flatbed truck, and has a deeply troubling interest in armed robbery.
And then there’s the Crab Community out in the Back 40.
Don’t ask.
I’m still working on that one myself.
We also have Sheriff Bert Grant, who has enough actual problems without Elbert manufacturing new ones, and a whole town full of people who would probably sleep better if Hoss took up a quiet hobby.
Unfortunately, Elbert considers espionage a perfectly respectable line of work.
As he likes to say:
“A gig is a gig.”
Lord help us.
Why I’m Writing This Down
I’ve known Elbert practically my whole life.
I’ve seen him make perfectly reasonable decisions based on completely unreasonable assumptions. I’ve watched him stumble into situations that ought to end in disaster and somehow walk away pleased with himself.
And I’ve learned that trying to correct him usually just makes the conversation longer.
So I’m writing things down.
Not because I expect anybody to believe me.
Hell, half the time I wouldn’t believe me.
But somebody ought to leave a record of what happens around here.
That’s what Tales of Lil Hoss is about: Elbert, the people who put up with him, and the strange little corner of Louisiana we call Katy Bill, Loosyaner.
The stories are funny. Sometimes they’re ridiculous. Occasionally they’re downright alarming.
And underneath all that nonsense, there’s a whole community of people who keep showing up for one another, even when they probably ought to know better.
Where to Start Reading
The original Tales of Lil Hoss stories are published at It’s Heritage Hoss.
You can find the official story archive here:
And if you want to meet the characters before diving in, start at the Lil Hoss Hub:
I’ll be sharing stories here, too, along with the occasional introduction to the people and places that make my life so unnecessarily interesting.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a burger business to run, a convenience store to look after, and a thirty-five-year-old man who probably shouldn’t be left alone with a chainsaw.
Welcome to Katy Bill.
— Betsy LeAnne Broussard
P.S. If you see a raccoon driving an old flatbed truck, mind your business and get out of his way.
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