Two hoary-headed handlers
Ride to the break away
Their mounts tired for
‘Twas their third brace of the day
Their scouts lead their entries
By a rein, the other rein leads their horses
At the line the scouts’ left hands grab their dogs’ collars
Right hands snap the rein to the ring on a bit shank
“Let ‘em go” says a judge
The scouts do and swing up in their saddles
Their mounts eyes are glued to their dogs
For an hour their eyes will continue to follow them
One dog breaks right
The other left
The handlers hit their whistles just a toot
Settle back in hopes of a break
They have done this so often
At so many grounds
From Florida to Alberta
From Oregon to Oklahoma
They know most hours disappoint
But they ride in hope of the few that do not
Hope rides but so does reality
Each time they climb up and cluck
Their mounts know the same
But like their handlers like their work
Watching their dogs moving forward
Tails whipping as they seek the front
The handlers sing
Hooves strike the ground
In four-beat harmony
Dog, horse, man, one
Two judges ride close behind
One charged to watch each dog
At mid-heat they’ll switch
They too hope for canine success
Success signified by strong forward races
Going to bird-likely places
Where quail might-or might not-be walking
In search of a meal or after one a safe resting place
And in woods nearby
The scouts ride silently
Intent on guiding their dogs
To KCLs and places to show to the front to advantage