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Baxter Black

Baxter Black tackles ag issues with a strong funny bone. Black is an American cowboy, poet, philosopher and former veterinarian.

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Her name’s on the note at the Valley Bank, boys
Though she might have questioned the loan
She signed her John Henry ’neath yours on the line
And she will ’til the kids are all grown.

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“Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free …” The message that rings down through the Bible from Exodus to Revelations, “Blessed are ye poor for yours is the Kingdom of God.”

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Beware connoisseurs! A new discovery may change the way America eats. Love your broccoli? Savor your homegrown tomatoes? Would give your eye teeth for a blueberry pie?

This discovery could create sweeping protests and black markets like marijuana has never seen. Plants feel pain. That’s right, plants feel pain.

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When someone tells me they grew up on a dairy farm, I say, “You have paid your dues, my son.”

The offspring of a dairyman that follows in his father’s footsteps is as scarce as a second-generation Nobel Prize winner, bomb dismantler or president of North Korea. So it is with pleasure that I congratulate those dairymen who are havin’ a heyday this year.

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Jeff needed a workin’ pen for his little herd of cows. He decided all he needed was some panels and a head gate. He rounded up some 16-foot panels of continuous fence, a metal head gate and two 8-foot posts.

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It all started because Jo wanted a small lawn behind the house. Tom encouraged her. Tom’s friend offered to lend them his heavy-duty, magnum, Humvee version of a tiller.

Jo borrowed my Ram diesel to pick it up in Sierra Vista, 30 miles away. I received the call at sundown. She was broke down. “It won’t start.”

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