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			 “From the cow to the plow, Dewey,” Windy said, 
			leaning on a shovel. Windy Wilson was on another of his “helper 
			days” and today it was Dewey Decker’s turn to be helped. 
 “What do you mean, Windy?”
 
 “You know … a slogan for the business. From the cow to the plow. 
			Fertilizer. Farming.”
 
 He was helping Dewey spread some product around at Mrs. Simmons 
			yard, helping her anticipate a greener lawn this summer. Besides 
			enriching the English language at every possible moment, Alphonse 
			“Windy” Wilson devotes one day each week to helping someone, for 
			free, here in the valley. He usually calls it his “enrichelating 
			experience.”
 
 Windy went back to Dewey’s pickup for the steel rake. “What you’re 
			doing here,” Windy tossed back over his shoulder, “is plowing backly 
			into our community the veriatable seedlets of hope and change for 
			the future. Yes, if I can coagulate some ideas for assisticating 
			your business, I’m delightable. We need ya, boy!”
 
			
			 
			“Thanks, Windy. Everyone’s been so nice. You know Emily’s coming up 
			with new ways of using cow manure so we can … well, spread out a bit 
			more.”
 “Absotively. I heard that sweet little chickadee of yours was 
			masticating some ideas that are ultra noo voe and knife bladely 
			sharp. She’s a honey.”
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			 “She sure is. She thinks we 
			might get a steel tank and pour manure in it, then fill it with 
			water. She says they call it ‘fertilizer tea’ or something and it’s 
			good to spray on crops.” “No foolin’? Won’t you have to 
			buy one a them sprayer thingies to drag behind a tractor?”
 Dewey stopped shoveling and thought. “Now that you mention it, we’d 
			have to have some way to get it on the field. But you know about me 
			and machinery …”
 
 Dewey’s being monumentally self-destructive around anything 
			valuable, movable or sharp was certainly no secret.
 
 “Why son,” Windy said, “you just worry about getting that tractor 
			ignitified, and I’ll drive ‘er for you.”
 
 “You’d do that?”
 
 Windy put his hand on his heart. “Dewey, my word is my blonde.”
 [Text from file received from 
			Slim Randles] 
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