With their fol de dol dol
And fol de dol day.
* * *
While flivvering out near Golden Valley, Minnesota, I dropped in at the farm of my old friend, John Foss, to pass the time of day. I noticed a drove of hogs on his timber lot acting peculiar. They would run up to a tree and squeal like mad, then leave that tree and go to another and do the same thing, continuing in their mad scamper around the timber lot.
“What makes them act that way?” I asked John.
“Well,” replied old man Foss, “last winter I had a throat infection and lost the power of speech for a month or more and couldn’t call them to their feed, so I taught them to come by rapping on a post or a tree, and now the darn woodpeckers are setting them crazy.”
* * *
At Breezy Point Lodge I have an old gray mare and I love to sing this melody of my boyhood days:
The old gray mare