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Sir, in all my ninety-years – has the Lord forgotten me? – I ain’t put foot in church no more times than fingers on one hand, a fact you pius folk think wicket, and my dead wife never let me forgit, houndin’ me like she done most of our fifty years of bedlock (not all bliss, neither) until I put her under some twenty years ago, I guess – and a good woman she was, too. But now to the point. Before she went down and went her way up yonder as you churchers say, she pleaded me with bawlin’ that I’d go “under the water” and have me-self a proper dunkin’ – before I get called to her – and we be man and wife once more (but in a nicer way, she was always tellin’ me), and, well, ya know, enjoy us selfs as the Lord meant for man and wife, and with improved bodies, I am hopin’ hard. Well, sir, Pastor Knootsin, I ain’t sayin’ I said Yes or I said No. Truth is, I ain’t said nothin’, not a word since her head dropped on the pillow before I could wish her a safe trip. It happened that fast, it did. Now that was goin’ on twenty years ago, and I ain’t done much nothin’ ‘bout it neither. Except some months ago when my trusty hound “Sniffer” – best dog ever was – fell through the ice chasin’ a coyote and was carried down river, he was. The McKonkle boys found him days later wedged between some rocks, frozen stiff. Nearly kill me to bury him it did – (I ain’t given to tears or foolish lady feelins, not even when the wife decreased, but I come darn close with my hound. Best dog I ever had, he was – could catch a flushed out quail like he had wings, he could; and run down a rabbit until the critter could kick up dirt no more. Well, sir, Pastor Knootsin, I’ve been givin’ some thinkin’ of late ‘bout what the wife said – ‘bout goin’ under for a dunkin’ I mean. I figure it’s time. Got this feelin’ in me innards – not a voice, mind you – just a feelin’ that my time is come. You bein’ a man of God, you must know the feelin’. Now, you know I ain’t got much schoolin’ or fancy readin’ – got only as far as grade six, mind you, like most boys of my day. And I ain’t got nothin’ against books and them edjucation things, neither. As I see it, books don’t make a man – and I’ve known quite a few of them edjucated collage boys – nice and polite, most of ‘em, but dummer than a stubborn cow when it comes to takin’ my advice on simple praticable things. Made me proud I never got beyond grade six, it did. But stupid I ain’t, and I done the best with the little I was givin’ – the wife always said so – and you bein’ edjucated and all, you can see I ain’t lived this long by bein’ dumm or idle. Thankin’ you in advance, Pastor Knootsin. Now I ain’t the kind to tell another man his bisness, no I ain’t – except in this matter. Sure wouldn’t want to miss the occasion and get the wife upseted like she was liken to when I forgot to do an important errand for her – you know how a wife can be, I suppose. And, oh, Pastor, Sir, one last request: About “Sniffer” – ya think he’s up there with the wife? He sure got hisself a darn good dunkin’. And well, I know he’d be alot happier with me there too.
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