A January fog, heavy wet and cold
Crept down from the darkness of the pines and across the gentle folds.
Not an apparition mind you but real I’m here to say.
A thump loud on my door when the Field arrived that day.
It lay flat, folded in a linear way
Thin and plain and pale.
I looked from side to side to see whom the carrier might be.
But it was the fog that brought it, and delivered the truth to me.
The truth of youth and the truth of age
The truth of death where nothing stays.
Like a Clarion call true and clear
A trumpet’s blast I was not prepared to hear.
AMERICAN FIELD arched across the top in gothic bold
Has been gone over 20 years now I’m told.
No birds or trials or dogs anymore
They’re only things of legend and of lore.
And in a banner just below with garland all around
Where forever proudly stood the champion of the day
Was a dog with a striking resemblance
to one of mine, named Old Jay.
The trumpet blast again and a chill filled the air
For after a closer look I was sure it was there.
His name in print, I gasped, how could it be
The Clarion’s angel was summoning me.
An advertisement filled the page, a trial soon to be
held amongst the fields of sedge on a farm in Tennessee.
One month to prepare it read, all entries have been paid
You’ve qualified for this event all rulings have been waived.
I had no dog around or steed to mount, nor reins left to grip
Nor friend to share my battle on that midnight trip.
My bag was light and my goodbyes few.
By determination and without delight I knew what I must do.
When I arrived at barns in tatter and fields all overgrown
Was but a single swath of winter wheat and that not thickly sown.
And the swath meandered along a hickory bottom
And then towards the east. An eerie ominous somber path to say the least.
Looking down that swath into the morning sun
Was a misty vail that would blocked the view of any dogs that run.
But without being told, the course lay that way, I surely knew.
For that was the direction from which the Angel’s trumpet blew.
A echoing cry from distance yon summoned a point in time
Dogs up…..Let’s go …..Final brace….Get’em to the line.
No one else answered the call, was I the only brace?
Again the call was made. Was this my final race?
I stepped to the line all ready and in the distance saw
a saddled horse awaiting just beyond the draw.
And just a little farther looking back at me that day
Stood the liver headed never failing gladiator, Jay.
And at the side of that hickory glen were two mounted riders, their faces in the wind.
Arch necked stallions with eyes of red hot coal pawed the ground black and cold…
Reins held tight and spurs aglow their cry went out another time.
Dogs up…..Let’s go …..Final brace…. Get’em to the line.
I knew no doubt that Angel had blown his horn for me.. He thought my final brace had come.
But I was there that morning to beat him and run a race that had to be won.
No marshal, or scouts that day, no gallery to watch the flank
It’d be me, that untried mount, and what Old Jay had left in the tank.
I whistled to Old Jay and he was quickly at my side.
“Now heel to me. Let’s go give this bronc a ride”
Fifteen three I’d say, smooth as silk with ears that twitched when Jay would passed our way.
Now it was up to me, Jay, and that black footed bay.
He’d been here before and knew every gap.
And Jay was gliding that day avoiding every trap.
One find, two, three, four, five coveys all.
We were slowly leaving behind that ominous Clarion call.
“Course left” I heard one say. Two hours we’d been down.
If we were to win that day we’d have to plot it now.
At two forty down and far to the front we crossed a muddy gravel road
I whistled to a well worn Jay, but had to help him load.
Across my lap on the black footed bay, Old Jay lay wet and cold
He’d run us out of judgement that day, right before their nose.
I was lost but the bay was sure, Jay needed warmth and I needed rest.
That black footed bay had stood the test.
For another hour he sped along.
Rounding a corner to an old home.
We beckoned hello and and old woman answered our call
Her husband showed and curried the bay. The old woman cared for Jay.
“Not many, she said, venture into these parts
but them that do have mighty big hearts.
Your dog’ll be fine given some rest. Seems he passed quiet a test”
I nodded, and begin to sleep, warm now and quiet complete.
It may have been minutes hours or weeks but when I awoke from that deep sleep
I was at home and Jay at my feet.
It was clear and warm outside and I happened to see a black footed bay
Sunning himself in a thick Bermuda pasture just across the way.
©2020, Danny Bardwell