It was the dread of every field trialer — the second UP. In this case the dread meant much more than usual.
Floating Mary was running in the last brace of the Lee County Open All-Age. Ben Reach and a fellow from Virginia — I forget his name — were judging. The stake up to now had been mediocre at best. But Mary was laying down a hell of a race. She’d scored at 10, 30 and 45, all clean and stylish. And Mary had run to the limits, all to the front.
Then at 50 Mary had a UP. Ben had seen a hawk floating above as she established the point, figured her handler Pete-Bob Dix was going to have difficulty flushing a bird. After two snappy relocation attempts he had taken her on.
Then Ben had heard hounds baying ahead, obviously on a chase. Then Mary pointed again. If Pete-Bob could not produce a bird for Mary she’d have to be picked up by the unwritten but universally honored rule of two UPs and your dog is out.
Pete-Bob had more than the purse at stake. Mary belonged to Miles McCray, owner of Forked Pine Plantation. Pete-Bob was handling as substitute for Mary’s professional handler, disabled by a broken leg sustained in a horse fall. After Mary’s second find McCray had called Pete-Bob in and said, “Win it and I’ll give you the listing on Forked Pine — I’m going to sell it.” Then Pete-Bob had called in Booty Blevins, Mary’s scout (he worked for Mary’s pro handler) and said, “We win it I’ll give you a double scout’s share of the purse.”
Booty had called point for Mary. He’d had no choice, for Ben’s judging partner had him in sight when he caught sight of Mary pointed. Otherwise Booty would have taken her on.
Pete-Bob arrived and dismounted, dread on his face. Ben also feared the dreaded second UP, especially in light of the hound chase that had just come through the vicinity.
Suddenly Booty grabbed Mary by the collar and pitched her ten yards, then jumped himself ten yards to the side. Just before this action Ben had heard a tell-tale rattle. “Snake,” Booty yelled. Pete-Bob had jumped wildly as well.
Mary got first, Booty got his double-share scout’s part of the purse, Pete-Bob got the listing on Forked Pine Plantation.
On Monday after work Ben and Sam sat at the table in Ben’s library-conference room, sipping drams of The Macallan and chuckling. A week before Booty Blevins had been there to demonstrate his new talent. Sam had arranged for him to get a new set of dentures, compliments of Medicare. Booty had demonstrated for the Curmudgeons his imitation of a rattlesnake, facilitated by the new dentures.