ODE TO TONY TERRIFIC

   Not that he's - ya know - dead 'n gone, but Tony Romo's statement on Tuesday was certainly saturated with resignation.

   Oh, and also guts, class, respect, dignity and professionalism.
   For some of us who've loyally - even stubbornly, at times - supported the most prolific passer in the history of the Dallas Cowboys, it felt a lot like a retirement speech. Or at least the official beginning of the end.
   Kleenex, anyone?
   He's won playoff games and made Pro Bowls and shoved Roger Staubach and Troy Aikman from the record book, but not sure I've ever been more proud of No. 9. And also never been more sad for him.
   No way around it, at this point in their polar careers Dak Prescott is a better quarterback than Tony Romo. You know it. I know it. And, yep, Romo - gulp - knows it.
   Under heavy pressure in a town that loves, loves, loves it some quarterback controversy, Romo made one of the best, most accurate deliveries of his career. On time. And on target.
   I was at Texas Stadium the night Romo replaced Drew Bledsoe and it felt - yeah - kind of eerie. With Romo injured and certain to get his job back (we figured), there was no similar passing-of-the-torch moment on the field this season. But while Romo sat silently and helplessly, Prescott yanked him off the pedestal and down the totem pole.
   The rookie who's only a Cowboy because of dumb luck (management whiffing on several other more desirable options) and only under center because of two injuries (Kellen Moore ring a bell?) is now on the verge of a magical season. The Cowboys are 8-1, and they just might win a championship.
   As a Cowboys lifer, I'm rooting for another Super Bowl. But, I admit, without No. 9 throwing the winning touchdown or taking the final knee, it will feel a tad hollow. Much like it will if the Rangers ever win a World Series without Michael Young, or maybe Elvis Andrus. Like it would've had the Mavs triumphed after Dirk Nowitzki.
   You just root for great things to happen to good people. But sometimes life - and sports - kicks that hope square in the kisser.
   Nobody's been persecuted in DFW sports more than Romo. So on this bittersweet day, I figured I'd dust off one of my many defenses of No. 9.
   What it was like to be a Romo fan in 2013?

   Exactly like this.

TRUMP 290, CLINTON 228: MY TOP '16 WHITTY COMMENTS

You're ... hired?!

   16. No, I'm not moving to Canada. Or rioting in the streets in protest. Or joining some nut-job Tea Party to waste my weekends waving banners from highway overpasses. It's politics. I get it. In this state - and in this country - if you bleed blue you'll always be in the minority. Life goes on. That said, I do sympathize with Democrats balking at the "forgive and forget" demands to unify for a smooth transition of power. I'm sure they remember Trump's "birther" movement and Rush Limbaugh openly hoping that new President Obama "fails miserably." It's difficult to accept losing, especially when - technically - you won. By perhaps 500,000 votes. Trump said all the right things in his acceptance speech and deserves credit for doing so. But when you run on a platform of insults and intolerance, you can't be naive enough to think the wounds will heal overnight.

   15. Hillary is a person that made bad decisions, but Trump is a bad person. My vote was 20% for her; 80% against him. My vote, like our country, has never been more divided.

   14. Lots of left-wing pundits are waxing angrily today, but this is one of the best takes. And it comes not from TV analyst nor spurned Senator nor Hollywood elite, but the head coach of the NBA's Detroit Pistons:

  “I didn’t vote for (George W.) Bush, but he was a good, honorable man with whom I had political differences, so I didn’t vote for him,” said Stan Van Gundy. “But for our country to be where we are now, who took a guy who - I don’t care what anyone says, I’m sure they have other reasons and maybe good reasons for voting for Donald Trump - but I don’t think anybody can deny this guy is openly and brazenly racist and misogynistic and ethnic-centric, and say, ‘That’s OK with us, we’re going to vote for him anyway.' It’s incredible. I don’t know how you go about it, if you’re a person of color today or a Latino. Because white society just said to you, again - not like we haven’t forever - but again, and emphatically, that I don’t think you deserve equality. We don’t think you deserve respect. And the same with women. That’s what we say today, as a country. We should be ashamed for what we stand for as the United States today."

   13. "When they go low, we go high." Great quote and, in theory, solid strategy. Unless of course, it isn't. Easy to second-guess, but perhaps Hillary should have lashed back at Trump with a barrage of personal and professional insults instead of keeping her hands clean. In biting her tongue in an attempt to allow Trump to hang himself, she gave power to her opponent's snippy, childish sound bites without a return of service. Hillary might have taken the high road, but she also lost a primo job. Same plan backfired on a certain former radio host a couple years ago. Ring a bell?

   12. Get ready for four years of the biggest Fascist blowhard this side of North Korea's Kim Jong Un. Trump actually said and - in his delusional brain - likely believes:
   "No one respects women more than I do."
   "I know more about ISIS than all of our generals, believe me."
   "I could shoot somebody and I wouldn't lose voters."
   "I've given $100 million (of my own money) to my campaign."
   "I donate a lot to charities, tens of millions to charities."
   "My health is perfection."
   "My golf handicap? It's a 3. Could be better, but now it's a 3."
   Ya know, those things are indisputably false. And I'm minimizing doozies like Obama being born in Kenya or climate change being a hoax. Seems as long as he doesn't have a private email server his followers will allow him the freedom to blabber gross hyperbole sans accountability.

   11. Make America Great Hate Again.

Clearly they've been dealt impossible hardships

   10. I still believe Trump was/is better suited for the WWE ring than the White House. Think about it. He's a fake villain in a grotesque wig who riles up crowds with salty, aggressive monologues and audacious actions. And, of course, his gullible fans buy into every ounce of his character. His pro wrasslin' cameo should've been a career.

   9. Tuesday night felt like I was watching golf's Ryder Cup, hoping to see one color but being besieged by repeated body blows from the opposite shade. Though I wasn't real fond of the outcome, watching an event that unpredictable felt very (and historically) sportsy.

   8. 42% of women - inexplicably - voted for Trump. Tell them to shut up? Rate them based on looks? Call them nasty and slobs and smugly claim that no flat-chested woman could ever be a 10? Walk in on them naked in a dressing room? Even brag about forcibly kissing them and grabbing them by the pussy? No problem. The biggest shock to me is that almost half the women in this country hate private email servers more than being objectified and disrespected.

   7. I long for Bernie Sanders (and his competence). I already miss Barack Obama (get ready to cringe at Trump's crass over his class). And I fear at some point I'll even dream of the "good ol' days" of George Dubya Bush. I'll even shed a tear for Obamacare. Why? Because I'll gladly pay increased middle-income healthcare premiums as long it allows low-income Americans to have insurance they couldn't otherwise afford. But that's just me.

   6. So let me get this straight: We elect a man who didn't get the most overall votes and whose victory publicly elated the KKK and Russian dictator Vladimir Putin and we're sure we got it right? In the wake of Obama's 2012 re-election Trump Tweeted: The electoral college is a disaster for a democracy. To which I say, Amen. But, like it or not, them's the rules for both teams. (If you're fearful of Trump as truly dangerous, however, I might just have a safe solution for you.)

   5. Another thing I don't get is the venom spewed toward the media. By my unofficial math the major networks covered Clinton's email scandal more than any other singular campaign topic. And no way Trump didn't get his fair share of face time. Besides, what newspaper or station or anchor or analyst would be that wrong on purpose? They were wrong - all of 'em - because they were wrong. Not because they wanted to be wrong. If you believe that a media outlet knew Trump was going to win but stifled that opinion in favor of some ratings-nabbing agenda then, I'm sorry, you have zero clue how the media actually works. I have 30 years' experience in media and ... Oops, probably the wrong number to be pushing ... I've picked against the Cowboys many times. Not because I wanted them to lose. But because I believed they would lose. And, yep, been wrong several times.

He said; She sad

   4. Despite his six bankruptcies over 18 years, Trump may be good for American business. Trickle-down economics giving tax breaks to the wealthy led us to the financial meltdown in '08, but I'll have an open mind. It's the social and moral components of him, his platform and his followers that irk me. Exclusion and intolerance are both despicable traits. But Trump's VP Mike Pence is on record saying homosexuality can be "cured". And this morning I read this nauseating Twitter exchange: A Syrian refugee that had recently relocated to Texas asked nervously "Now what?" A proud "Deplorable" Trump follower retorted with "You go back! Now!!" I fear that's just the tip of the iceberg.

   3. In a scene straight out of the movie Idiocracy, a coalition of non-degreed White males has up and elected a reality-show TV star with zero political experience to the office of President of the United States of America. More bizarre, along the way the candidate publicly alienated and denigrated women, Blacks, Muslims and Latinos. How'd he survive? Trump somehow tricked his followers into thinking he was of them. They are working-class Americans he calls the "forgotten." But him? He was born with a silver spoon in his mouth, lives in a gold-plated Manhattan palace and has worn a blue collar about as often as he's paid taxes. Hint: never. (By the way, wouldn't it be justice if Obama now turned the tables and dogged Trump with a "taxer" movement that demanded the new President produce his "long-form" tax returns?) In exit polls 60% of voters said Trump was "unlikable" and 53% admitted his takeover of Washington, D.C. would make them "concerned" and/or "scared." He will be, by far, the most controversial and least popular person to ever assume the Presidency. Which - in Idiocracy - means even more High-5s.

Coming soon: The new Trump Tower

   2. Bottom line: Whites voted against Hillary as if she was trending Black, and Blacks mildly supported her as if she was trending White. She got 88% of the Black vote. But that is down from 93% for Obama in '12. Ramifications? Clinton earned 129,000 fewer votes in Detroit than Obama, and 95,000 fewer votes than him in Milwaukee four years ago. She wound up losing Michigan by 61,000 and Wisconsin by 73,000. And the Latino backlash toward Trump that many experts predicted never materialized. Despite the insults and promises of deportation and plan to build a wall, Latinos voted for Hillary even less than they voted for Obama. Women and minorities had their chance to defeat Trump. You can either blame them for blowing it, or blame her for being such an unconvincing candidate. In the end, the male chauvinist pig d. the scheming, dishonest woman 7-5, 6-4.

   1. Congrats to Trump and his passionate supporters for pulling off an upset that rivals Buster Douglas knocking out Mike Tyson. (I do find it painfully ironic that the candidate who criticized a "rigged" election won the Presidency despite finishing in 2nd place.)  I may never like President Trump. But rest assured I'll afford him more respect than a lot of Texans ever gave President Obama. Hopefully you'll treat Democratic Presidential Nominee Michelle Obama better come 2020. Peace Be With You.

NEW YORK IS MESSIN' WITH TEXAS ... COPS

   Cops. Guns. Dallas.

   In the wake of the horrific July 7 police massacre and smack dab in the middle of our open-carry state desperately fighting off attacks of the 2nd Amendment, you'd think that Lone Star trifecta would receive patriotic support, punctuated with a red-white-and-blue salute.

   You'd be wrong faster than a New York minute.

   Because someone far from here - in geography and apparently ideology - is indeed daring to Mess With Texas.

   "We're just a couple of friends trying to sell guns the right way," says Russel May, a veteran Sergeant in a DFW department who owns Front Sight Firearms with brother-in-blue partner Eric Wilson. "But these folks in New York are doing everything possible to kill our business. What's happening to us just isn't right."

   If you've kept up with my writing and ramblings through the years, you know I'm not exactly a gun advocate. But, in trumping that liberal leaning, I am a champion for what's fair. Right over wrong, regardless of the currency in play. And in the case of the policemen's gun store vs. their New York landlord, something seems fishy at best and down right discriminatory at worst.

   Frustrated by years of being subjected to a double-standard by Rochester-run First Allied Corporation, Front Sight is engaging in a dispute that's trending toward a lawsuit.
   "In hindsight it's clear they (the landlord) don't like guns," May says. "They didn't really want us there in the first place. But they sure wanted our money. Soon as we signed the lease we've been treated disproportionate and unfairly."
   By all accounts, they're good ol' boys with great intentions. May, a 48-year-old Sherman native, moved to McKinney 14 years ago after serving in the Grayson County Sheriff's Office; Wilson is a local law-enforcement officer whose current responsibilities require a lower profile. Their friendship included a shared love of firearms, and a business relationship blossomed.
   With Federal Firearms Licenses and all the secondary job paperwork filed with their appropriate law enforcement departments, Wilson and May began selling guns part-time out of their houses in the mid-2000s.
   "We knew we were on to something," May says. "Outgrew our garages in no time."
   In the Fall of 2013 their search for a brick-and-mortar space led them to Orchid Centre, a shopping center managed by First Allied and located on Eldorado Parkway in the northern Dallas suburb of McKinney. Far from perfect, the modest spot was next door to a karate studio and sat - blocked from the main street's view - directly behind a free-standing building anchored by a UPS store. And the monthly rent of $2,759 uncomfortably bulged their budget.

Before landlord demands; After landlord demands 

   At that price and with that obstructed view, no wonder the space sat vacant for four years. May and Wilson had the lease looked over by a realtor friend, who found nothing out of the ordinary in what he termed a "standard lease." On Oct. 10, 2013, with relatively minimal haggling, Front Sight had its location, McKinney had its first and only Class 3 firearms storefront and First Allied finally had a tenant.
   "At first, they wouldn't let us put in bollards to fortify the front entrance, but we did get them to eventually agree to those and to let us put in a steel hurricane door," according to May. "We wouldn't move in without it being safe. I wouldn't have been able to rest my head on my pillow without proper safety measures. (Upgrading the security) was a deal-breaker to us. Trust me, no one is more concerned about keeping guns away from the bad guys. That kind of goes without saying. Plus, we promised to take everything out when we moved out. No big deal."
   But May and Wilson, turns out, were just beginning a litany of  headaches.
   Blue-state agenda > #BlueLivesMatter?!
   About nine months after they opened for business in December 2013, a space became available next to UPS in the free-standing building close to Eldorado. Being a tenant with a long lease, high hopes and a perfect rent payment history, May inquired about moving into the much more visible space. Without any explanation, their request to relocate was denied. Inexplicably, he got the same answer 90 days later when the karate studio next to Front Sight up and moved out. That simple move next door would've doubled Front Sight's square footage and increased its visibility as a corner store.
   After being told to stay put, the adjacent space sat vacant for almost a year until Condom Sense moved in.
   "With us," says May, "it's been ugly from the get-go."

Guns, anyone?

   First Allied was founded in 1984 in Los Angeles by the late Malcolm Glazer, whom Forbes regularly ranked among the planet's 400 wealthiest humans. His real estate holding company, which also has management offices in New York, today owns and operates almost 7 million square feet of shopping centers across 20 states. When Glazer died in 2014, his family - including six children - was left to run his business empire including the NFL's Tampa Bay Buccaneers and English Premier League soccer giant Manchester United. Talk about being born deep in life's Red Zone, sons Joel, Bryan and Edward were handed down First Allied.
   May says he has never spoken to a Glazer, instead left to communicate with First Allied's Rochester-based Operations Manager, Greg Burnham. He's treated Front Sight as a nuisance, like Hillary and those pesky emails or Trump and the raunchy remnants of a hot mic.
   Reached on the phone Monday morning with a repeated offer to tell his company's side of the story, he was as dismissive as advertised.
   Despite being informed that I was poised to publish a story detailing what appeared to be gross mismanagement by First Allied, Burnham simply said ...
   "We don't comment on anything in regard to relations with our tenants."
   Strangely, interviews with several Orchid Centre tenants revealed little or no other landlord problems.
   "It's good," characterized one owner who has conducted business in the shopping center for four years but wished to remain anonymous. "The place always looks good. Gets kept up nice. I haven't had many problems, but when I have they've addressed them pretty quick."
   With First Allied tight-lipped, we can only speculate at the reason for the uniquely strained relationship with Front Sight. New York, blue-state liberalism? Anti-guns? Anti-cops? Culture conundrum?
   Whichever, even before being roadblocked in their desire to change spaces Front Sight was handicapped from the start with an identity crisis.
   A couple weeks after moving in May and Wilson realized their Front Sight name did not - as expected - get placed alongside the other stores on Orchid Centre's monument sign at the high-traffic intersection of Eldorado-Orchid. Soon after, however, a First Allied "Now Leasing" slide-in sign on the monument vanished, leaving Front Sight to consider it an invitation.
   May had a friend at a sign company make a small slide-in panel and ...
   "Two weeks later we got a letter telling us to take it down or we'd be in default of our lease," says May. "So they needed a spot on their monument sign and a big, separate, double-sided sign for their company? But none for their new tenant? Sorry, but that's screwed up. So much for welcome to the neighborhood."
   May says he asked Burnham where they could put a sign and was told "You don't have a space."
   What. The. What?
   "Not only that, he accused me of stealing his sign," May says. "I told him, 'I'm a policeman. I've got a lot better things to do that go around stealing your $3 signs'. It's not like we're trying to move mountains or ask for a special favor. Just let us advertise our store. I mean, plain common sense says you have to have signage, to advertise in order to sell things. Letting people know we were there was a huge challenge from almost day one."
   During a complaint about his new store's lack of visibility, May claims to have had this exchange with Burnham:
   May: "I don't understand why you don't want your tenants to be happy? Don't you see that if we make more money, you'll make more money?"
   Burnham: "I'm not concerned with your success. I've already got your signature on a 60-month lease."
   "That," says May, "is when we really realized what we were up against."

   With customers slow to trickle in to the almost invisible location, Front Sight was forced to become innovative. They constructed a wooden sign, and put it in the back of  Wilson's parked pickup adjacent to Eldorado. Immediately, business boomed.

   Recalls May, "Yeah, we did okay. For about three months."

Front Sight's Only Sign Of Life

   Short-circuiting Front Sight's blip of prosperity, another letter arrived from First Allied's Burnham warning to move the truck ... or else. Same with a sandwich board sign out on the sidewalk, placed alongside the exact same type of sign that other tenants such as Pizza Hut were using. And same for a box truck the partners bought, wrapped in advertising and parked by the street.
   With each new attempt to attract customers, Front Sight was greeted with a "default on your lease" threat from the folks in New York who obviously failed Southern Hospitality 101.
   The box truck actually stayed - and worked - for 10 months. Until one morning when it didn't. Because it was, well, gone.
   "First Allied towed it," May says. "Even though I reminded Mr. Burnham that I know the city ordinances here better than him, and that there weren't any towing signs anywhere in that parking lot. I told him I wanted our truck back, but he just stumbled and mumbled and ... it's probably still sitting wherever they towed it."
   Undaunted, Front Sight resorted to Plan - oh, I've already lost count - and bought another box truck. But this time each night they moved it from the street to the back of their store in their designated parking spot. It didn't work. A towing company arrived one day, but May sternly warned the driver that there were no signs in the parking lot. The tow truck left, but it was merely a temporary stay of execution.
   A week later - now in early 2016 - May and Wilson arrived at the store only to find new "Towing Enforced" signs in the front, and nary a truck in the back.
   "We checked our security cams and, sure enough, First Allied hired a different towing company and they came at 2 in the morning so nobody was here to stop them," says May. "The transmission was ruined, the tires locked up and there were skid marks all around the back of our space."
   But when May says he demanded $2,000 for repairs on the towed truck, he was again met with indifference. Somehow still undeterred, last June Front Sight adorned its front windows with garish red, white and blue signage that included American and Texas flags that goosed business, before, of course, First Allied sent yet another demand letter to remove the flags. I mean, really, the most dickish of HOA's wouldn't even do that. An understated, flagless strip of that display remains, only because May reminded Burnham that Pizza Hut is allowed to have the exact same type of signage in its window.
   From JFK to J.R. Ewing, guns are an ingrained, important fixture in Dallas' culture and Texas' history. What First Allied is doing is akin to holding a ribbon-cutting ceremony for a new Philadelphia restaurant, then promptly cutting off its supply of cheesesteak.
   At its peak doing six figures in revenue, Front Sight - mainly due to sketchy signage - has seen that number drastically evaporate.
   "We did half that in August. September was bad. And October looks worse," May says. "In this area, with what's going on around the world, and with what we provide, our business should be off the charts. But we're being choked and bled to death by our own landlord. If we try anything to spark business we get a letter threatening to 'comply' within 10 days or else we'll be accelerated into default and be facing $80,000 in legal fees just fight it. We know we're right, but we can't afford that. We're cops, for crying out loud."
   These days Front Sight parks the box truck - repaired out of their own pocket - by Eldorado a couple days a week. They have negotiated a deal with a neighboring store to park the truck inside a locked garage every night.
   In the meantime, May and Wilson are searching for a new home. With 24 months left on their lease, they can't yet afford to just pack up and leave. But can they really afford to stay?
   They plan to reach out to the National Rifle Association for help. Maybe a boycott of Orchid Centre will rattle First Allied's New York cages, just enough for the company to tear up the lease and allow Front Sight to skeedaddle.
   "At this point we just want to move," May says. "We're in Texas and we're legally, safely selling guns. There just has to be a friendlier place."
   Cops. Guns. Dallas.
   It's a shame those harmonious, home elements are being forced to play an unfair road game.

THE GREAT ESCAPE TO TRIDENT LAKES

By Richie Whitt
DFWSportatorium

   Fine, serendipitous structure. You win.

   I'm intrigued. Fascinated. On the verge of being mesmerized. I'm fully aware that we live in a scary, skittish world where terrorism has its own daily reality show from Orlando to France to Dallas to Baton Rouge to Germany. And that we exist in a warped culture where everything from Pokémon Go to Dak Prescott to Ken Bone can grip our nation.
   But you ... you temporarily have my undivided attention.

Rising mightily in, um, Fannin County

   So, c'mon, I've pulled over to the side of the road. Now spill your obscurely opulent beans. What-the-what is a big, ornate, marble statue doing perched high in the air smack dab in the middle of a tiny, unincorporated suburb of nowhere North Texas?
   I mean, when tootling along between the one-stoplight towns of Savoy and Ector on sleepy State Highway 56 on a sunny summer afternoon, the last sight I expected is the building of something fit more for Caesar's Palace than Fannin County.
   Rough, meet diamond.
   The thing is beginning to rise out of the nothingness, appearing as deliciously out of place as an ice-sculpture centerpiece at a farting contest between Larry The Cable Guy and Real Housewives of Dallas star Stephanie Hollman. The moment Dallas Cowboys owner Jerry Jones lays eyes upon the spectacular structure he'll crave another glitzy AT&T Stadium accessory.
   Seriously, it's ...

   "Sir, we're going to have to ask you to leave," says the apparent foreman of a 10-man construction crew feverishly working on the statue, plumbing for the accompanying fountain and what looks like some sort of expansive entrance. "Stop taking pictures, please. This is private property."
   "Yeah," I retort in retreat, "but what kind of private property?!"
   As I drive away, I'm flagged down by a local rubbernecker. After all, it's not every day a UFO that glitters like the Palace of Versailles lands - or, in this case, was set into place by a 90-ton crane - in this down-to-Earth rurality 15 minutes south of the Red River.

   "What'd he say to you?" asks a 60-something-ish man in his pickup while his female passenger cranes to hear my answer. "What the heck is that thing?"
   "Honestly, I dunno," I shrug, "Best guess though, it's going to be the entrance to something. Something pretty big."
   "Well," responds the man, "whatever it is ... I wanna be part of it."
   In my rear-view mirror I see two more vehicles slow from 65 mph to skid marks in order to size up the mammoth mystery. If you build it, they will come ... to at least gawk.
   After several shot-in-the-dark phone calls and two more empty trips over a couple of months, I finally get my answer. And an invitation.
   "It's Trident Lakes," says Paul Salfen, who identifies himself as a spokesman and Director of Celebrity Relations for the development. "Think of it as a 5-star playground, equipped with DEFCON 1 preparedness. Why don't you come on up?"
   Gulp. At first glance I think these guys building something so big in somewhere so small are out of their minds. But, no, as life as we knew it deteriorates into one of those Southwest Airlines' "Wanna Get Away?!" commercials, it quickly occurs to me that they're merely way ahead of the game.
   Fine, serendipitous structure. You win.

                                                       PROVOCATIVE PROJECT

   We grow up here learning everything is bigger in Texas, so we're a tad cynical when someone proclaims to be building "the next greatestbiggestbest thingamajig".

Closer to Paris, Texas than Paris, France

   Our statues aren't something out of Greek mythology, but rather born-'n-bred icons such as Tom Landry, Nolan Ryan, Byron Nelson, Ben Hogan and Big Tex. And our epic construction projects include the world's largest football stadium, largest high-school football stadium, a retractable-roof ballpark for the Texas Rangers, 200,000-seat Texas Motor Speedway, The Omni Hotel, The Star in Frisco as the epicenter of the $5 Billion Mile, those two weird, white bridges near downtown Dallas and Trinity Forest Golf Course, a 400-acre, $50 million project in South Dallas aimed at hosting the U.S. Open. We've seen a giant chair promote the future of Nebraska Furniture Mart in Frisco and a huge beaver open the mega-truck stop Buc-ee's in Fort Worth.

   Shoot, we've even seen Dallas swing-and-miss at hosting The 2012 Summer Olympics, drag its feet for 10 years on the Trinity River Corridor Project, and something called the Superconducting Super Collider flop and fail in Waxahachie in the '90s. In other words, Trident Lakes better be considerably bigger than something along the lines of "McRib is back!"

   It is.

   "This," says Salfen, pointing to the base of a statue that will soon rise to over 50 feet, "is just the tip of the iceberg."
   When Trident Lakes is complete, it will be one of the most ambitious, grandiose and important developments in our state's history. Maybe our country's.

   The plans call for it to be part private resort/part safe haven. It will be both a lavish country-club community that features upscale amenities, and also a state-of-the-art secured fortress that boasts subterranean luxury condos able to withstand the shit's direct hit into our fan.
   In other words, Trident Lakes promises to be the ultimate retreat for people seeking shelter from a world gone mad. The more your imperfect news cycle is littered with Amber Alerts, domestic terrorism in Orlando, an attempted coup in Turkey, police shootings in Dallas and Baton Rouge, trucks used as weapons in Nice and the stench of ISIS seemingly everywhere, the more this idea - unfortunately - makes perfect sense. America's FBI "Watch List" has grown to include more than a million names for crying out loud, and director James Coney recently admitted that there are ISIS members or sympathizers in all 50 states.
   Yeah, yikes.
   "We'll be one of America's most unique, most safe neighborhoods," says Salfen. "What we offer are world-class amenities combined with unprecedented civilian security. It's life assurance. Luxurious life assurance."

   A settlement worthy of, indeed, a serendipitous structure.
   The construction around Trident Lakes' majestic entrance is already gaudy enough to be a spin-off from Rome's Trevi Fountain. When finished, according to Salfen, the massive water feature will be the heart of one of the largest fountains in the world.
   In terms of square footage (55,000+) and length (longer than Bellagio's famed lake of dancing water in Las Vegas), few - if any - fountains on the planet will be bigger. The height of the structure that will spew water and anchor the property's elaborate entrance will also be dimensionally unprecedented. Not exactly a fountain of youth, but more so one aimed at ensuring old age.

   Design options call for this sundae's cherry to be a huge, gold Trident, perhaps even wielded by Poseidon himself.

   (UPDATE: The Poseidon statue was severely damaged by a Blossom-based Unruh Construction cement truck in July. Construction on the surrounding fountain continues, but work on the statue is on hold until a settlement is reached with Unruh's insurance company - Albuquerque-based Mountain States. A Trident Lakes source says the company is hopeful the claim will be resolved without litigation, but - despite Unruh accepting responsibility for the accident - describes Mountain States as "wholly uncooperative.")
   Fitting of its bedazzled beacon, Trident Lakes will surely become the crown jewel of northeast Texas. For now there's a website - www.TridentLakes.com - and social media accounts on Twitter, Facebook and Instagram (though with minimal activity and few followers). Salfen was tight-lipped on details surrounding specific security features and pinpoint costs. But after a 30-minute tour across the surprisingly lush and rolling property on an ATV, and discussions with security and real-estate experts, I can make some educated guesses on the particulars:
   Try 700 acres and $300 million. Commence eyeball-popping.
   The community is being developed by Dallas-based Vintuary Holdings Corp. which - hence the giant fountain and grand entrance - looks like they have the moxie to pull this off. I managed to get in touch with lead architect Charles Ralph, but he only wanted to talk about what everyone else was already talking about.

   Yep, the serendipitous structure and its vast waters.

   "We’re confident one of the largest fountains in the world sets the stage for a standard of quality that will bond the entire community,” said Ralph. “It’s a unique tone-setter for a place residents will enjoy, but also depend on.”

   Our proud history and state pride be damned, I'm pretty sure we've never seen a community adorned with enough bells, whistles, upgrades and foresight to keep survivors from becoming victims in the event North Texas deteriorates into an apocalyptic combination of The Walking Dead, Game of Thrones and The Purge.

   "You can't predict catastrophes, but you can prepare for them," Robert Glasser, head of the United Nations International Strategy for Disaster Reduction, said in a recent speech. "The prudent people are taking steps to be ready the best they can for the worst that's likely to come."

   Says Salfen, "Live on a piece of paradise, get peace of mind. It's a win-win."
   Though Trident Lakes won't come alive with water through its veins until 2017, it's already casting a substantial shadow. Salfen says the early "trickle" of cars stopping with curiosity (guilty, party of one) has increased to a "steady stream" of visitors seeking answers, snapping photos or - in some cases - attempting to reserve a plot in the affluent-yet-anonymous neighborhood.

   Residence at Phase I - the first of three planned subdivisions - will be via invitation-only, complete with a waiting list. After successful beta testing, according to Salfen, engineering plans for Phase 2 have been accelerated and accompanied by a formal waiting list as well.
   Offered initially to movers and shakers throughout America, Trident Lakes' membership will likely parallel the hoity-toity exclusivity of Dallas National Golf Club, Washington D.C.'s Greenbrier Resort and that fantasy land beyond the armoire known as Narnia.
   Though the price tag will remain confidential until initial invitations are hand-delivered, seems reasonable to estimate the cost aligning with that of an affluent second home. That, of course, would preclude the community from becoming fertile ground for grass-roots, nut-job government separatists and keep it instead purely an oasis for the powerful and savvy.
   Make no mistake, Trident Lakes will be much more Elysium than Idiocracy.
   Though Salfen was adamant about maintaining the privacy of residents, rumors are that notable celebrities are already sniffing around the place. After all, swanky resorts exist from coast to coast, but not many - if any - include state-of-the-art security prepared to mitigate our planet's biggest threats.

   Hope for the best. Prepare for the worst. And, apparently, have a lot of fun in between.

                                                       5-STAR PLAYGROUND

   You would expect the DFW Metroplex's rich and famous to vacation in exclusive spots such as Aspen, Cabo or Maldives. But why in the world would they make the hour trek northeast to a previously unremarkable landscape?

   Easy. Because most well-to-do families also own lake homes, and Trident Lakes vows to both pamper and protect its residents while turning the trick of putting this lil' corner of Texas on the global map. It's going to transform nowhere, into somewhere. Somewhere special.

Today: Natural Texas landscape
Tomorrow: Nasty Trident 18th green

   It promises to be one of the world's best-appointed hiding places. After all, we need complex "what if" plans. But, in the meantime, we also need cool "what if not yet" playgrounds.

   During my tour I heard general plans for seemingly every toy imaginable including an 18-hole golf course, 15-acre blue lagoons with white-sand beaches, a 5-star spa, jogging trails, sports courts, kids' play areas and learning center, equestrian center, polo fields, zip lines, gun ranges, retail shops, restaurants, waterfront wedding venue and a row of helipads.
   Weaving throughout the planned development will be about 400 Earth-covered, terraced condos with three unique floor plans ranging in size from 900-3,600-square feet and all providing patio views of the site's lagoons.
   Barring the Apocalypse, Trident Lakes could simply maintain itself as one of the most exclusive, best accessorized country clubs in Texas, if not all of America. But if Hell and high water converge simultaneously, developers have a plan for that too.


                                                  DEFCON 1 PREPAREDNESS

   Trident Lakes promotes itself as more than just a pretty place. Its three-pronged purpose ensures "Plan", "Protect" and "Play." With terrorism tragedies spreading almost daily from Orlando to Turkey to Belgium to Joint Base Andrews to (fill in the blank), some probably feel like this protective palace can't be built too fast.
   As last summer's sniper ambush in Dallas unfolded, the shooter (Micah Johnson) who killed five officers told police "the end is coming."
   Cue the chills. Call to action.
   "Our hope is that membership will never need Trident Lakes for anything more than a vacation home, main residence or just a fun place for a family getaway," says Salfen. "But in the event of something dramatic, it will also be a 5-star insurance policy and a place that will - as well as possible - dilute the ongoing dangers."
   I wasn't privy to a formal Master Plan, but was told Trident Lakes could eventually become a self-sustaining community using off-the-grid sources of food, water and energy. Among the extensive security features being kicked around are a protective wall surrounding the property (eat your heart out, Mr. Trump), watchtowers, air-lock blast doors, a navigable tunnel system, communal greenhouses and a DNA vault.
   Those detailed checks and double-checks would, in theory, protect residents and minimize disasters such as terrorism (ISIS). It will also be built to diminish the brunt of virus pandemics (Zika), intergalactic events and violent conflicts. From Mother Nature's mood swings to scary scenarios that would empty store shelves within hours, Trident Lakes plans to take a big swing at answering the most ominous questions ... even before they are posed.

   "One of Trident Lakes' most appealing features is its proximity to Dallas and Fort Worth, yet its location at least an hour from the major 'threat zone'," says Salfen. "Whatever danger arises, we feel confident we're providing the best Plan B money can buy. After all, preparation negates panic."

   One of the things that struck me about Trident Lakes is its seeming contradiction: Existing as a deluxe, secret safe house - but one adorned with one of the most ostentatious fountains on Earth. The palace screams "Look at us!" But the philosophy is founded upon "Please don't notice us."
   In his UN address, Glasser just might have it figured out.
   "It's all about risk management," he said. "If you plan properly, you can hide in plain sight."
   Like a joint password protecting sensitive information, a safe word drawing boundaries on sexual exploration or the designated family meeting spot during ominous weather, planners hope "Trident Lakes" becomes the default escape destination when and if Doomsday dawns in Dallas and beyond.
   Fine, serendipitous structure. You win.
   In the present, your sprawling fountain in the remote reaches of North Texas will generate unique curiosity.
   In the future, you just may provide unparalleled security.

LET'S PEEK INSIDE TONY ROMO'S NEW HOUSE, SHALL WE?

Not bad for a neighborhood gate house, eh?

   I'm not a big fan of "Who's wearing what?" or "Keeping up with the Joneses." But I am, alas, a huge supporter of the Cowboys in general and much-maligned, always-underrated Tony Romo in specific.
   So ... let's bend the rules, crane our necks and check out the quarterback's new house.
   We all know Romo moved out of his old house in the Cottonwood Valley neighborhood of Irving and is selling the 5,500-square foot joint for a cool $1 million. As for his new address?
   I haven't seen his new digs with my own eyes, but got a couple of sources who have been on the  property and inside the home in the far North Dallas community of Glen Abbey near Bent Tree Country Club.
   The key, cool statistics:
   *12,000 square feet
   *Three stories
   *A spiral slide that lands on an indoor basketball court
   *A back yard that features a glass-enclosed spa and sauna
   Sounds like a pretty swanky playground for sons Hawkins and Rivers, and not a bad place to entertain or relax for Tony and wife Candice.
   The locale, of course, makes total sense. For now it's a quick drive up the Tollway to the Cowboys' new headquarters at The Star in Frisco. And, when Romo retires, he can simply meander down the street to play his beloved golf on one of the Metroplex's best courses at Bent Tree.
   Don't have a price tag, but - relatively speaking - it sounds like a modest place. In 2013 the quarterback signed a contract worth a whopping $108 million. One of his peers - guy named Tom Brady - recently sold his moated mansion in Los Angeles and moved into a $50 million castle outside Boston.

DEAD 'N GONE: VALLEY RANCH

Home, Sweet ... Gone

   You know how you know when you're old? When your sports playgrounds are deemed archaic and impractical.
   Yeah, ouch.
   For me, hitting the big Five-Oh wasn't a big deal. The real punch to the ever-softening gut is losing the venues that shaped most of my sports memories and a good chunk of my media career.
   Arlington Stadium. Reunion Arena. Texas Stadium. All kaput in the name of capitalistic growth. Next on the chopping block: Valley Ranch. Which for four years in the glorious early '90s was my office and, on a couple of occasions, my bed.
   The Cowboys opened the practice facility north of 635 on MacArthur Road in 1985. For on-field football purposes, it's closed for business. When the team returns from training camp in Oxnard this summer it'll move into the new Star in Frisco, with a grand christening slated for Aug. 27.
   And just like that, Valley Ranch will be tossed onto DFW's pile of discarded iconic venues alongside Bronco Bowl, Baby Doe's, Starck Club and Sanger-Harris. As part of my 18-year run at the Fort Worth Star-Telegram I covered the Cowboys from 1989-94. I wrote there. I lived there. I made friends there. I sometimes slept there.
   I loved there.
   Progress can take my buildings, but it can't delete my memories ...
   10. Good Ol' Day Syndrome - The football and the freedom were drastically better around Valley Ranch in the '90s. In an era only at the dawn of the mainstream Internet and way before social media, there was no need for media IDs. No "Players Only" parking lot. No restricted areas. Regularly during my time as a beat writer I borrowed shorts and a T-shirt from equipment man Mike McCord to play racquetball, waltzed back into the coaches area to watch tape with then-kicking coach Steve Hoffman and, on a couple of occasions after being over-served at nearby Cowboys Cafe, slept in the FWS-T cubicle adjacent to the locker room. How laid back was the vibe? One day FWS-T partner Mike Fisher and I went out onto the practice field for an impromptu Punt, Pass & Kick Contest with our friends/rivals Ed Werder and Tim Cowlishaw of the Dallas Morning News. Try that today and you'll be a headline rather than merely a punchline.
   9. The Hot Seat - In our tiny broom closet of an "office" we had enough room for a table and three chairs. One for me. One for Fisher. And one for guests. Players - Hall of Famers, turns out - would regularly come sit down on their way out the door. Just for casual conversation. To bullshit. "I'm not coming in here to be grilled on the hot seat," Troy Aikman once pronounced. Right then and there, we dubbed the empty chair "The Hot Seat." Michael Irvin. Emmitt Smith. Jay Novacek. Tony Casillas. Larry Brown. Even Jimmy Johnson, Jerry Jones, Brad Sham and Dale Hansen. Name a member of the Cowboys' '90s dynasty and chances are they sat a spell in our Hot Seat. I cherish those times. Because it wasn't notebooks and recorders and formality and on-the-record, but more so just a chance to blow off steam. To talk. Irvin was probably the most frequent visitor. One day he sat down, grabbed our land-line telephone, propped up his feet and spent at least an hour talking to ... who knows? Kevin Gogan popped his head in, saw Irvin making himself at home and yelled "Damn, I need to call ahead for a Hot Seat reservation?" In the week after a loss I handed Irvin the latest NFL statistics in which he was near the top of the league leaders in receptions and yards. "We just lost!" he said, getting up from the Hot Seat while crumpling the paper into a ball and firing it at our trash can. He left. And, of course, soon came back. "Psst," he said, pretending to be covert, "where's that paper?" His exit was punctuated by the trademark Irvin guffaw.
   8. Center Stage - I always kidded long-snapper Dale Hellestrae that he wasn't really a football player. "Snapping is an art form," he'd retort. So one day he bet us that he could snap a ball into the window of a speeding car. "You're on," we said collectively. But I'll be damned if Hellestrae didn't bend over and between his legs launch a perfect spiral through the passenger window of the Lincoln Town Car driven at 35 mph through the Valley Ranch parking lot by Mark Stepnoski.
   7. Merry, um, Christmas - In the early '90s "breaking news" was whatever appeared in tomorrow's newspaper. But the competition to "win" the day's paper was fierce. That's the reason I spent most of Christmas Eve, 1991 at Valley Ranch. Through sources, Fisher and I had obtained every NFL player's salary. But, of course, it was given to us as raw material, printed on a thick stack of paper. Today we'd simply upload the file onto a website and, voila, news. But back then we had to manually type in every name, every salary, every signing bonus. It started around Noon on Christmas Eve and ended ... just in time for Santa.
   6. Mutual Vomit - I witnessed Alexander Wright run a 4.14 40-yard dash on Valley Ranch's outside track and stood beside a freaked out Smith after he watched magician David Blaine seemingly levitate, but the most amazing performance came in '94 when Jones and Johnson held that infamous charade of a press conference to announce their divorce. During that 30-minute debacle I don't think one honest word was uttered. At the time the two men had zero respect for each other and their parting was anything was mutual or amicable. It was a tug-of-war, fueled by jealousy and targeted at credit. And, yes, it was down right disgusting.
   5. Identical Intensity - In '97 Irvin went ballistic on the media for reporting that he and teammate Erik Williams had sexually assaulted a woman. Claiming his innocence, he hurled a huge rubber trash can through the locker room and implored the media to use the "same intensity" when eventually reporting the clearing of his name. In fact the woman's claim was false. The trash can, however, suffered irreparable damage.
   4. Jimmy Genuine - Once a week Johnson would invite the print media - sans notebooks or recorders - into his office for a casual visit. The "fireside chat" it became known as. In it we could bring up topics, offer our opinions, engage in back and forth, touch on personal stuff, whatever. We just couldn't publish anything from the chat. One time Johnson started the chat by chastising me for documenting the play-by-play of his team's 2-minute drill at the end of practice. An opponent, he reasoned, could use that information and be prepared defensively come crunch-time. "I won't ask you to help row this boat," he said to me sternly, "but I demand that you don't punch holes in it." Message, received.
   3. Richie Shit - Charles Haley was one of the best players and baddest people I ever covered at Valley Ranch. Years later we'd hug it out and Haley apologized for tormenting me, blaming his erratic behavior on being diagnosed as bipolar. But in '93 being serenaded as "Richie Shiiiiiiit" and used for target practice was wholly un-fun. As I interviewed Aikman at his locker, a roll of athletic tape whizzed between our heads. Like a menacing bazooka with bad intentions, I mean, it's just tape. But it's a thick roll. Getting konked by it would be about like getting dinged with a battery. And Haley was firing the rolls at me from 100 feet across the locker room. "Stop writing about me, motherfucker!" Haley cackled. "Don't you even write my name!" Me (ducking): "You have any control over him?" Aikman (leaving): "Yeah, right. Good luck,"
   2. Spit Happens - One day Aikman is in the Hot Seat, flipping through the cheerleaders' calendar and bitchin' about how "Hail Mary" passes count as legit interceptions. "I think I'll just start taking a sack and maybe we'll stop calling that stupid play," he joked. As I pretend to listen while feverishly writing on deadline, I reach over and take a swig of my Sprite. Uh-oh. At the time the quarterback was huge into dipping tobacco. Always carried a paper Gatorade cup lined with a napkin in which to spit. On this day - lucky me - apparently he upgraded to an empty Sprite can. Guess who was too busy working to realize he'd picked up the wrong cup? Immediately, um, I knew. And realized I had two unfathomably nauseating choices: 1. Swallow Aikman's coagulated funk of saliva and tobacco and attempt not to vomit; 2. Violently spit and reveal my grotesque gaffe, and forever be the punchline that once had Aikman's bodily fluid in his mouth. Spit or swallow? I chose the latter, accepting one horrendous experience over a lifetime of ridicule. Until now, I guess.
   1. Goodbye, God's Coach - My first time at Valley Ranch forged the most lasting memory. In '89 I made my virginal voyage to the complex to help FWS-T writers chronicle the final days of Tom Landry. He'd been fired by Jones and any day now would clean out his office and leave for good. Today was that day. As a lifelong Cowboys' fan, I grew up worshiping St. Landry. And now I was helping fan the flames of his funeral. I watched him meander through the weight room exchanging handshakes and hugs. Late in the day I turned a corner inside the building and almost bumped into - yep - Tom Friggin' Landry. "Excuse me, young man," he said, as I froze, speechless in awe. Along with up-close encounters with Prince and Anna Kournikova, it's as star-struck as I've been in 30 years in media.

HO! HO!! HO!!! SCAAARY CHRISTMAS!

'Twas the night after Christmas,
  when all through the house;

An EF4 tornado plowed,
  leaving Lisa clinging to her spouse.

   Dec. 26 at the Alvizo home on Pacific Drive in Rowlett was supposed to be a quiet, family evening. Early dinner. Put away Christmas gifts. A deep, relaxing respite from the holiday hustle ‘n bustle.

   By 6 p.m. you’re in your favorite Superman “sleepy pants” and …

   “You don’t expect tornadoes around Christmas,” says Lisa Santos-Alvizo. “And never in a million years do you think you’ll be hit by one. But … here we are.”

   Married to Fernando Alvizo last August, step-mother to two daughters and – sure enough – pregnant, Lisa on that Saturday afternoon headed home from work at her hair salon in Plano. A quick stop at the Wal-Mart off Dalrock Road and on to cook dinner – Shake ‘n Bake chicken, broccoli and salad.

   “Who knows where that dinner wound up,” she says with a chuckle. “Probably still in the oven. But who knows where that oven ended up.”

   She knew bad, eerie, Spring-like thunderstorms were rolling through the Metroplex. And at 6:32 pm. the neighborhood emergency sirens sounded. Like we all have done, she heard them, briefly paused and then, naw, never in a million years.

   “I wasn’t scared at all,” she shrugs. “You live in this area long enough and you’ll hear your share of tornado sirens. In 1979 in Oklahoma I saw cows swept into the air by a tornado. I knew what they could do …”

   But when Fernie pulled into the garage from church much earlier than expected, she felt something was different. Something was wrong. Something, was coming.

   “I’m going about my business, about to get out plates for dinner and he checks the radar,” she says. “Um, yeah, we saw it headed right toward us. Something told me right then that this wasn’t going to be the nice, quiet evening we needed in between Christmas and New Year’s.”

   Quickly, but not yet frantically gathering her purse and her beloved Chihuahua “Cowboy”, Lisa was suddenly jolted by Fernie’s scream.

   “Closet!!”

   And for the next 10 minutes, Lisa, Fernie, 10-year-old Marlee, 6-year-old Maddyn and Cowboy hunkered down in the safest place in their house – and absorbed the full brunt of an EF4 tornado. With Cowboy in her lap and a flashlight in her hand, she sat alongside Fernie, who prayed loudly. The girls huddled closely on an adjacent plastic tote.

   “At that point I’m just trying to be calm, to keep the girls calm,” Lisa says. “They’re feeding off of us, and we’ve got assure them that we’re going to be okay. We tried to pray loud enough that they didn’t hear what was really going on right around us.”

   But that convincing becomes more difficult when Fernie’s prayers are abruptly interrupted by the violent sounds of 2x4s snapping and shingles slamming into walls. And then, with the sound of a deafening freight train, the tornado carved a direct path into the Alvizo home. The group was lifted into the air twice, and not-so-gently slammed back into the ground – or what used to be their floor.

   “Surreal,” she says. “There’s no doubt we were all in the air. Your sense of awareness is just all out of whack.”

   The turbulence, the noise, the free ride – it lasts all of 15 seconds. And then …

   “We knew were okay because we were talking to each other,” she says. “And because we were all covered in clothes that had fallen off the racks in the closet.”

   It was pitch black. And it was, wet?

   “I was hugging Marlee and I felt her back was all wet,” says Lisa. “That’s when I looked up and just saw the sky. There was no roof. That’s when I knew we had just survived a tornado.”

   Carefully moving because they didn’t really know what was on top of them or – worse – what was beneath them (they had a pool in their back yard), the group climbed out from the debris and heard voices approaching. Neighbors, stunned that anyone survived the totally flattened house, helped them to safety. It was raining. The daughters were barefoot. The smell was of natural gas (“Rotten eggs everywhere,” Lisa says) and there were numerous explosions of transformers and live electrical wires dancing dangerously along their street.

   Finally able to get a signal on her phone, she phoned her brother, Hector, to say "We've been hit!" A cousin soon arrived with umbrellas and hugs and a ride to safety. Less than 30 minutes after the tornado had leveled their home, the Alvizos were sitting numb in Hector's house, contemplating their brush with death, the reality of their house, the steps needed to …

   “Ernie!” Lisa shrieked out around 4 a.m. the next morning. “We’ve got to go get Ernie!!”

   It was the ashes of her deceased brother,tragically killed in a motorcycle accident in 2010. He was Lisa’s hero. And he was resting in an urn in her new home. First crack of dawn and Lisa and Hector were back at the mountain of debris that just 12 hours earlier was her tidy little home. Somehow, Hector immediately found Ernie.

   “He was next to my grandmother’s 70-year-old wedding ring,” Lisa says, “and underneath his chaplain’s license.”

   Not everything – or everyone – was so lucky.

   The storms in North Texas that night killed 13 people, including one in Rowlett. Both Lisa and Fernie’s cars were destroyed. She lost a ring she’d just received on her birthday. The family’s Christmas tree – and most of their presents – were swept away, and as of yet still not recovered.

   “We lost … just about everything,” Lisa says, fighting back a tear. “It’s just such an empty, naked feeling. I mean, material things are replaceable, but it’s just a horrible feeling starting from scratch. I wanted to brush my teeth the next morning, but I had no idea where my bathroom was, much less my toothbrush. I just want to cook in my kitchen and lay on my couch and … it’s going to take a long time to rebuild that.”

   Amidst the daunting task of canceling credit cards and opening new bank accounts and and haggling with insurance companies for new cars and deciding whether to buy a home elsewhere or re-build on the same lot, there is hope. And joy.

   The family, other than emotional scars and material losses, survived a tornado. As did its cat Max, who was found hiding under a mattress three days after the tornado. And its rabbit Clover, discovered the same day shivering and scared but otherwise okay in what was left of the workout room. Lisa found Cowboy’s cage – a mangled mess of twisted iron.

   “Believe me, we know we were lucky,” Lisa says. “I’ve had some tragedies in my life, but so far my chances haven’t run out.”

   A GoFundMe Page established for the Alvizo family has so far raised approximately $10,000.