Pauly Wally & the Doodle Breakfast 🦎🏴‍☠️🎬

three minute ‘memoir styling from ‘the family farm at Orton Ontario’

a simple Work of Fact & a Tich of Fiction - but Mainly a Lot of Truth

.. was the late 60's as I recall & Clayton had dropped something about 'the kids' on our way back from the weekly cattle auctions. We were in that powder blue dusty - never washed - ever old Ford pickup truck of his. He'd ask Ernie Awrey to inquire - if his fine son Howard, a drover, could pick up the chunky bunch of Hereford stockers the next day.. so I was looking forward to seeing them in our barn.. they were maybe 300 lbs or so.. chunky squared up Hereford - red lassies n lads with white faces

Anyway, it was something to look forward to on the morning.. which did come as usual and was up with the birds. Got some nice barley straw from a previous fall spread in the middle pen across from our Black Angus feeder calves - .. calves.. heck, they was gettin up near 5 or 6 hundred pounds or so.. I'd wrestled them all many a time but those days were fading fast

Here and there I heard the sharp crack drift & echo over the hill out back & very soonly trotted off to back corner o the back cornfield out of curiosity. Who would be cracking off big rounds this early in the morning before 6 AM ?

Ah.. Clayton had mentioned his twins .. 'the kids' were back from Australia. Gone a year or so, the story was they left Erin Township after a kerfuffle at the fall fair dance when some townie rude boys thought they could dance with them. That was Clayton talk for some kind of fisticuffs or worse only ruffians ‘sported in .. not ‘those of good name..

Now I had met them on occasion, those two ruffians & a burly lot they were in teddy bear way of appearance.. all big fuzzy & new .. akin to yearling early summer bear weight & lean mean muscle getting used to the accelerator .. i ‘perceived Pauly n Wally and had trouble imagining who would or could 'dance' with them. Kinda stupid idea in my view. These were very adept large boys, farm raised, top hands at any harvest, corn fed by Georgie and Clayton and here and there the blue half ton pickup was spotted with one or t'other behind the wheel. I'd heard the negotiation regardin who got to drive could get - shall we say, 'emotional' but usually ended with mutual smiles.. an excuse for a decent dust up was welcomed by those two.. and I'd been privileged to witness a few.

No punches of course, just root hog or die wrassling and maybe that was why they were well remembered & defended as two way footballers at University of Guelph who had a certain talent for line play in the trenches.. were adept in the scrum.. and had surprising speed .. a rudeboy rugby shoulder to the face was a number taken.. and a receipt always delivered..

Anyway, I digress. Crept silently or thought so anyway.. from our cornfield, slipped over the cedar rails, into a shared woodlot and was soon studying the Bacon Brothers banging off large rounds of heavy calibre rifle, into a parked wagon 2 hundred yards away in front of their share of our hill and piled high with straw bales. There was a standard gun range target on the side. I watched with interest as the two argued lightly over elevation and drift. The shots were going off from a gun rest, a bag of seed grain, clearly marked with a local co-op brand and another with a magnificent spotting scope & notebook & carpenters pencil & ziplock bag

Now wuz bout to drift backaway to the barn when a light voice in my ear asked me politely who the fuck I was and a light hand was also applied to the back of my belt & was on verge of ‘launch separation.. from earth

"Who's askin"squeaked out of little old me

"You're the weird neighbor kid, aint ya?

The reedy voice called out to the twins

"I got the varmit guys.. what should I do with him?

"Fetch him over here Doodle, let’s take a gander at him. No rough stuff, just dance him along. He's a neighbor n Dad & mister Awrey speaks highly of him.. may as well have another looksee of the critter.. grown a tad might hope

come along peacefully young man?" there seemed an option .. ?

Somewhat shaken aback from the surprise attack, nodded. Who was this cat that tracked my arrival from upwind ? and somehow gotten behind me ? Moose was just cresting the backside short cut & thanks a lot.. I’d ‘assumed or worse - presumed carelessly ‘he had my back .. that precious aged urban warrior .. slyly hit the shortcut wisely .. he ‘had the scent .. Georgie Bacon’s Grill ! Read it LOUD & CLEAR

The twins were examining the target with interest, but turned to look me over as I followed ‘scrawny man toward the hay wagon.

"Hello Tom, heard lots bout you from Mom n Dad, that'd be Georgie & Clayton.We often met a ways back as well. Seems you met The Doodle already, fresh from the outback and thought you most worthy looking over up close. You & that salty ol bull had breakfast yet ?

again .. were extremely large young men, had never met bigger, though the other one they ‘named Doodle was a half pint by comparison, and I was even smaller. I had yet to find my voice, so nodded sideways a shaky ass 'No' and think a 'sir' squeaked out o me after.

The three of them studied me, though in a nice way & the other twin asked if desired a shot with the big scoped gun.. & handed it to me abruptly & open bolt for a look see.. and further look see..

.. really wanted to see their ‘sight picture is all - when they shot that monster but shoot it no.. could see the box of shells.. size mucho big bore 50 cal, break my puny shoulder so had a quick looksee - shot a visual kodachrome, grinned - gave it back & guess we all laughed.. Huge rifle !

"Dad says you n that Dearing kid have been lightin up the hayfields & ground hogs something fierce with something loud but only humane way ..

(not fair - but sadly, necessary & we were still adapting those early & precious years)

‘What’re y’all shootin?

voice still a lot lost to me & I tried a shrug.. that kinda failed but recall squeaked out "22-250 hand loads ‘neighbour.. & leaned on that

"well never you mind my younger brother, he th nosy one. That perfect varmit cal.. so Tom Dearing eh, Herman's 2nd eldest, hah.. bet he way bigger than you. Why not hop aboard and we'll help Dad for a minute of two, wash up and Mom will have something in or out of the oven, lickedy split ..

The two of them had a very strange way of finishing off a sentence with each other. It was like watching a mirror and hearing talk from either, all flowing together. Kind of like how a brook sounded.. water bubbling over a rock, or an eddy. I was still tongue tied but squeezed out a positive nod. I'd had a few breakfasts with the Bacons and it would be rude to decline.. not to mention outright silly stupid. Mrs Bacon was the world champion of baked goods in my view, though my grandmother had been no slouch either.

I was soon in the bed of the powder blue truck with the scrawny one they called The Doodle who had the strangest accent and very black skin. No room up in the cab of course. Those two ate up all the room and surprisingly Clayton's dog was up there too. I hadn't noticed her.. I guess in that way she was somewhat like Mr Doodle. Kind of silent and invisible all at once, till they had you by the leg or the belt. For a 15 lb dog there was a lot of fight in her. Maybe Doodle was cut along the same lines. Short of size, plenty of bite. Seemed mebbe so

We rolled back through Clayon's acreage and surprisingly, right up the barn dump into & onto the drive floor behind the tractor. I'd noticed The Doodle had a way of not looking at me but looking me over.. kinds of sideways glancing, the way a farmer like Mr Bacon never looks at a calf he wants to buy or bid on, but sees everything. He seemed a very quiet man, where the twins had a lot of their mom, that bubbling energy. Clayton of course was a truly quiet man, but shared his thoughts in a very nice way.. always. Aside from Tom Dearing, Clayton was probably my best friend, and he let me drive his truck in the fields. Now that was a treat and he had a three on the tree tranny as he might say... Obviously too.. he had a little Ford tractor what could pull a three furrow plough.. & I ran it plenty.. haha with the manure spreader in the dead of winter., got paid in jelly donuts

Mrs Bacon was in the window as we drove past to the barn. She was a tiny woman, even smaller than Clayton. How they came to have such large boys was a distant mystery to a dwart like me. Never really gave it a thought nor figgered that out. Every day I was presented with an endless supply of mysteries. Farm life was like that for a young city boy.

The twins somehow extracted themselves out from the truck, the dog had given me the tiniest sniff, it knew me well & vicy versa. I assume he read me like a book & caught up on the farm dog news. The Doodle ejected from the truck bed like a cat and the rifle in its case was disappeared in a blurring somehow .. between some hay bales. He stretched like a cat as Wally attemptd a friendly swat and casually turned the huge lad inside out with a strange hand grip. It was imperceptible how easily it happened. If the twins were thunder, Doodle was greased lightning. I of course was a sponge, taking this byplay in with complete wonderment.

"Hello Tom, I see you met up with the boys, mornin Doodle"

There was some quiet exchange of information. Not aloud. I saw mr Bacon's eyes flick at the aforesaid hay bales where the big rifle in its case was hidden. Damn but he missed nothing ever. Neighbors swore he was the smartest person in the entire township, even the entire county. Clayton might then say..

"Well, I'm a good ways behind Georgie & there's lots of Mennonites around.. but I do have my little moments.."

He headed to the farm house.. the three followed him, I was in trail, the dog behind, around and all over. Doodle and Clayton were chuckling about something.. maybe the big gun or the price of wheat. The Bacon Bros were deep in thought, maybe about breakfast.. or how The Doodle had put such a wicked twisty hold on Wally. Pauly tried a silent rear attack outside the summer kitchen door and got the same wicked handhold that Wally had encountered. Even if those two were greased lightning, Doodle was the preceding thunderbolt. For such a small young man he had something cooking I had never heard or seen of

We washed up and were soon assisting Mrs Bacon.. who I knew was Georgie as Clayton tweaked the big old radio. The locals preferred Mrs Bacon not enter the fall fair baked goods. It was generally accepted she was the Queen.. and all were in her thrall.

Grandma would have given her a run for her money on apple pie or lemon meringue.. but Ms Georgie slayed all other comers. Every farm neighbor like Mrs Beatty had their championship belt for pickles or bread, even tarts.. but Mrs Bacon held all belts and was kind & so generous.. enough to quietly let others claim some glory & enter late. Clayton always brought home with them some sort of minor trophy. Pickled beets? Elderberry pie? Preserved peaches.. but this was the farm life I sampled every day. And ms Bacon was among the queen bee. All bow ! She would just for a laugh enter her cornbread in a non existant category every year. It was more to tease the judges.. her lighthearted jest I guess. Clayton would drop it off to someone important then chat with the cattle judges a bit. I would be invited along then study the bulls, heifers and cows, wonder at the sheep in their wooly coats.

.. dozen fresh eggs already in the great cast iron pan, a pound or more of bacon, haha.. and the twins were demolishing a jar of crabapple jelly with toast. Small strokes from The Doodle fended off all attempts upon the apple butter until Clayton had his toast, fresh baked of course and Doodle was ensuring ms Georgie never lifted a finger to serve the table..

I was the visitor from outer space or a cornfield and that small dog in the corner was working on a marrow bone, watching me at the same time. A glance from Mrs Bacon and The Doodle had the warming oven snapped open, revealing something she called a keesh or something like that. Clayton often said she had a caging way.. from her Acanadian parents or something. I was fine with that as I was a Canadian I figgered too, so I figgered re were somehow related. Later I learned about Cajuns and Acadians.. no wonder I was confused. Doodle kept bringing platters. Home fries, gravy.. breakfast buns.. The boys sure chowed down and the Doodle seated ms Gladys. He had some esspecial manners about him.

The radio droned on, twins joshed each other, Doodle and ms Georgie talked some foreign language.. something about spinach, so I figured it was about Popeye.. and I ate some more bacon - oh bacon.. yes I did .. at the Bacons.. where else ??

I did ask the Doodle, very politely what land he came from. He said he was the part time mayor or I - of the Queen's Land or something like that. I needed a translator to cut through the strange accent. The next Wednesday enroute to the auction barn I asked Clayton and became even more confused. The Doodle had dark skin. I'd never seen a dark skinned person before.. like what was that all about ? Clayton explained he was a May Or I .. and at that I parked my scrambled egg brain, such grammar had me.. maybe it was some sort of secret society akin to something Huckleberry Finn or Rudyard Kipling might explain..