My happiest days
Were spent horseback
Riding at field trials
Watching dogs explore
For coveys of quail
Or sharp tails or Huns
In wire grass or prairie grass
Wheat stubble or weeds
Watching them freeze
Stand rigid and tall
Waiting for handler
To get there to flush
Then watered and released
To stretch out for the front
To find more to point
At the end of a cast
From first breakaway
To the end of the day
Looking for the one
That lays down the great race
A race to the front
Across it and on
Using the breeze to
Bring it the scent
Then looking back from afar
For the handler’s mount
Taking direction from its course
Or the wave of handler’s hat
Listening to his song
To know where he’s at
When handler’s unseen
‘Cause the course is not flat
While I ride just behind
The judges up front
All of us hoping for
That perfect race
The race never seen
But hoped for each time
That two bird dogs
Are led up to the line