The Kel and the Ruckus

One, day, a kel was a-jollipin' through the wilderness.
He hoppined upon a rock-barrow!
He looked inside it.
He looked outside it.
It had no contents and no identification!
He resolved to bring it back home to investigate—it seemed an important artifact.
But he couldn't budge the thing!
He grunted and bunted and bustled and rustled, but all he succeeded in doing was making a ruckus.
The ruckus was apparently of a suitable size for a womon to notice!
"Are you the one bedazzled and baffled by my rock-barrow?" she asked, after popping out of a nearby mammaribush.
"Dextrous Darwinabilia!" the kel deplored!
"You oughtn't leave rock-barrows out in the open where happenin' archaeometrists such as myself could happen upon them!"
"I offer my contrition for the happenstance," compuncted the womon, "but your blathering can't compensate for your resistance to noting the pictograms!"
Indeed, she pointed at a nearby sign… a crop-sign!
The kel lamented his chance.
He was standing in the midst of a rock-barrow field!
He petulantly pranced apart from the person, a-planting his pocket-pastilles in potsoil before reaching the periphery.
Before his departure, he found that his toddling was being impersonated!
"Do my pips not stop the topping of your soil?" the kel delvt.
"Pocket pastille pips keep the sprouting to a high and the doubting to nigh naught!" the womon replied, as she eyed, then flied to a trying shrub, so as to tend to its bends (around the wheel of a growing rock-barrow).
The kel complied with the advice and decried his vice (for in these times, cultivated cultivating knowhow was a necessary virtue), then tried to leave thrice before finding the reason he hadn't.
"Are there coordinate-strings to plot or digit-strings to dial that I may disseminate to my rock-barrow-lacking friends?" the kel posed.
The womon was left agape.
Her mental model of a kel had not previously included its tendency to support small businesses!