’Twas at the National Championship in 20??
After all the entries ran and failed to make a case
Not a single covey had been stood, bumped or chased
The three distinguished judges were disgusted with the place
At lunch they called a huddle to decide what now to do
One had a flask of whiskey, one a flask of gin
The third a batwing of brandy if you can believe that sin
The senior judge said call ‘em back till we get one worth the win
To save time they called them back by twos
To run in the same order they’d been drawn before
Only difference those had gone in morning now went in afternoon
First callback brace would go down today at two
Conditions for the callback seemed ideal
Cloudy 52 degrees fahrenheit
Slight breeze out of the west
But despite of that not a quail was seen or ridden up or chased
The mood at the Manor House that evening
Was to put it mildly grim
Not even sponsors’ free spirits
Could cut the gloom
But the President of the National Bird Dog Champion Association
Was an optimist sure nuff
“Luck’s bound to change, fellows,
Have faith in the ghost of Mr. Ames”
At 7:30 next morning
The judges walked to the waiting van
To ride to the breakaway
On arrival they got a shock
Waiting for them were their saddled mounts
Brought from the big brick barn
But not a single handler, scout, or owner
Not a gallery rider or member of the press
And the Trapp Memorial Kennel stood
Empty as a graveyard Christmas morn
* * * * *
Tom Word books, both hardcover & paperback, are available at: https://strideaway.com/product-category/books-and-pamphlets/