The first hour filled with action
Sam’s dog Rip was reaching well
Liked this country with its edges
Rip found quail twice
With style and good location
His manners perfect at their flush
Rip’s brace-mate also scored two finds
He too handled his birds well
The two races judged near equal
As a pup Rip had run loose his first year on a Virginia farm
Taught himself to search for game
The farmer had Johnny houses placed
At pasture corners
He’d released quail from them early mornings
Then turned Rip loose alone to find and chase them
Rip had seen those quail fly out
As the farmer made his morning round to loose them
Rip rode in the farmer’s truck’s front seat beside him
So Paducah reminded Rip of happy puppy times
Rip’s owner rode today with Sam
He was that farmer’s brother
The judges huddled at mid-heat
They had Rip and brace-mate even
The last hour would decide it
Sam and his scout conferred
Rip’s owner listening in
“I’m going to send him deep—don’t take your eyes off Rip this hour”
Rip and brace-mate heard handlers’ whistles
Knew they meant consent to hunt deep
And they both did
But alas they found no birds
John Russell riding marshal had released them
Knew both dogs had passed them, leeward side he speculated
Time was called both dogs unseen
The judges halted, said “You got half an hour”
Sam and his scout lit out to search-so did the competition
Minutes ticked away
Five left, then four, then three…
“POINT” echoed, from far away
John Russell led the judges at a gallop
Two horsemen were seen ahead motionless
Sam and his scout were the horsemen
Rip stood fifty yards beyond the horsemen
Sam flushed, birds flew, pistol cracked, Rip stayed
The brace-mate was lost, found with tracker a mile away
The day’s second brace was soon released
Both picked up at an hour, handlers’ motions
Rip was named Champion, no Runner-Up
Rip’s owner was overjoyed
He asked Sam to meet for lunch
“I’ve got some good news for you”
They met at Backwoods Barbecue
With trays of pork and rolls and slaw
Rip’s owner told Sam good news indeed
“I’ve sold my company for a bunch
Bought me a quail plantation down your way
Want you to manage it for me”
On his drive home to Bowling Green
John Russell chuckled to himself
The birds Rip pointed after call of time
Had not been put there by John
Who had driven to and from Alabama on Thanksgiving
To get and release quail for the WKFTC
Someone else had released those birds
John did not know who but I the author of this yarn do
It was the owner of Rip’s brace-mate
How do I know that?
Because I made up this yarn—it’s fiction