The Little Brown Bird

For twenty-two years
Life has given me
An annual week
That renews

The second week in January
I enter a world
Where the parts of nature I love most
Surround me

Where wiregrass on ridged sand
Tall pines here and there
And a little brown bird
We call quail thrive

At dawn they whistle
To greet one another
From where they slept
Tail to tail in a circle

Then they walk forth
In search of insects
Seeds and grit
And dew-just a bit

At eight AM
We gather
Mounted to watch
A pageant unrivaled

We say thanks
To the One Above
And pray for a safe day
For all

Let ‘em go
Says a judge
And two dogs streak away
In search of the little brown bird

The handlers sing
The scouts watch and swing
Riding left or right
Behind the judges

A cap soon is lifted
By handler or scout
We canter to watch
The drama unfold

The scene:
A dog pointing
To signal its find
Its handler dismounting to flush

What happens next
Creates
Pure elation or
Disappointment

The quail want away
Will they run?
Will they fly?
We’ll know soon

If they run
Will the dog
Find and point them again
Or flush them or loose them?

We will know
The answer
In a moment
Of suspense and excitement

We call this
A relocation
Done right
Its elation

It’s a test
Of the nose
Of the skill
Of the training

But more than that
It’s a test
Of what passed to the dog
From its sire and its dam

A test too
Of the skill of the birds
At survival
Their lives depend on it

But this week
They are safe
Either way
For an armistice prevails

The handler
Carries only a blank
To signal success
And say thanks to the little brown birds

Success for the birds
Should they escape
Is signaled by silence
And a scribbled UP in the judges’ books

One UP gets a pass
But a second ends
The dog’s day
In a harness on a rope or back on the truck

Five braces fore lunch
Four after
Eighteen a day get their chances
Till sixty to eighty are tested

Then the judges announce
Those to come back for an hour
And a top qualifier
Who earns five grand for the honor

Now things get serious
And tensions mount
As we savor the drama
That’s the Florida Championship

And each night
As I settle into bed
Tired and contented
I say thanks for my job

It’s the best in the sport
By any measure
Carrying the privilege to watch
The best dogs the best handlers and scouts

Do their thing
On wild quail
Over marvelous grounds
And write of it