First Quail Hunt
When I turned twelve, Dad bought me a shot gun
Thought two sons hunting with him, would be fun
My brother also got his at that age
They were Remington Wingmaster, 12 gauge
Dad had two Pointer bird dogs, both well-trained
This is a breed born to hunt, it’s ingrained
The dogs had been named Old Red and Clover
Clover ranged close but Red was a rover
Dad’s bird hunt of choice, was always Bob Whites
As these quail don’t run before they take flight
Other types of quail, like the West Texas Blues
Run before they flush, that’s dog hunt bad news
I’d walked on hunts, but never with a gun
Then dad said “Boys you’re hunting on this one”
We both knew gun safety and how to shoot
Clay pigeons move out, but quail really scoot
“Get the butt tight to your shoulder”, said Dad
The gun kicked hard, so the stock had a pad
Still before I learned, my shoulder was blue
It didn’t take long to know what to do
We left for the hunt, the sky was still black
Went in the old pickup with dogs in back
Just getting light when we got to the field
Gave the dogs a short run, then made them heel
We started to walk, but stayed fairly tight
Dad was in the middle and Big “J” on the right
Clover was working but stayed right in front
Old Red was way out ranging wide to hunt
We could see Red when he went on a point
When Clover saw him, she froze every joint
Old Red on a point is a sight to see
Clover backing the point’s a thrill to me
We walked toward the covey very slow
Clover stayed, just in front, she’d freeze then go
Old Red would only move a foot or two and freeze
Dad talked soft, wanting to keep Red at ease
Both dogs looked tense and about to explode
Like a beam in stress from an over load
When the birds all flushed with that sudden roar
Big “J” shot one and Dad dropped down two more
I never raised my gun, so had egg on my face
Spellbound by the dogs, I couldn’t keep pace
They both had a good laugh at my expense
It’s my first time out, I said in defense
The dogs retrieved the bird as they were trained
Then the hunt ended as down came the rain
On the way home I yelled, “I’m the winner!”
I don’t have to clean a shot gun before dinner
Copyright © Charles Sides | Year Posted 2011
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