Ben Reach lamented the disappearance of black scouts from pointing dog field trials. They were gone for economic reasons, not because of discrimination. Handlers simply could not afford employee-scouts, electing instead out of necessity to trade scouting duties with fellow handlers. It saved payroll and horse expense, but it had cost much of the heart of the game. Now instead of employee-scouts, handlers scouted for one another. It saved payroll Read more
Blog
More About Ben
In Remembering Ben, I told the story of my favorite pointer gun dog. When Ben was four, we hunted the last day of quail season with Sam Kerr in Appomattox. It was one of those magic days. With a snowstorm coming in from the Southwest, flakes began to fall about two, and quail went on a feeding frenzy. We were in birds almost constantly until dark. A covey was feeding Read more
Remembering Ben
Like all old bird hunters, I have stored in memory a book of the lives and deaths of the bird dogs which owned my heart over six decades. Most came to me as weanlings, lived with me an average of twelve years, and passed into eternity moistened by my tears. Ben, one of the best, came to me at his age eighteen months, and as one of but a few Read more
The Hole
“Every dog has at least one hole,” old Field Trial truism. It was culling time on the prairie. Ed Moore and his helper Booty Blevins were conferring after a long day in the saddle. The list on the table was written in pencil in Ed’s nearly illegible hand on the back of an envelope that had held their last pay checks from Harley Keen, postmarked Winston Salem, North Carolina. They Read more
Pocket Finds
Message placed in Slade Sikes’ duffle bag by his son before he left Chinquapin for the Invitational to run Chinquapin Reward. Read more
The Secret
It was the best kept secret in bird dog field trials for a time, and then it was not. Booty Blevins was scout for Ed Moore, who in turn was handler for Harley Keen, owner of a cigarette maker and a Georgia quail plantation known as Knotty Pine. It was the Dirty Thirties, and times were desperate for all but a few, but not for Harley Keen, one of America’s Read more
The Pick of the Litter
After Mary Muldoon’s win of the National and the Free-For-All the same year back in the Dirty Thirties, her owner Harley Keen decided to breed her to his friend Richard Bain’s Billy Bones, the pointer that won the Free-For-All the year before Mary. Keen and Bain were two rare fortunates of those awful days, at least in material ways. Keen’s company made cigarettes, Bain’s made whiskey, and for those two Read more
A Rivalry
It’s the 1930s, times are desperate, the Great Depression has the world in its grip, yet for a few at the top nothing has changed. So it is for Harley Keen and Richard Bain, owners of businesses whose products are still in demand at prices producing a profit. Keen’s is tobacco, Bain’s is whiskey, legal again with Prohibition’s repeal. They are sports, and their shared passion is bird dog field Read more
Continuance, Continuance
Ben did not take criminal cases to be tried much anymore, but he knew he could not refuse to take this one. Sid Miles was charged with assault. Assault with his fists. His victim and accuser was Frankie Weeks, son of the owner of Burley Oak Plantation, William Weeks. Sid was a Cracker, Frankie and William, Yankee blue bloods. William Weeks was plumb rich, a native of Boston, fourth Weeks Read more
Two Birds With One Hat
Monk Baldwin was one of Ben’s favorite people. He was the long-time butler on Mossy Swamp Plantation, and the epitome of a gentleman. Always pleasant, always observant of the needs for help of family and guests and fellow employees at Mossy Swamp, Monk had come to Ben for help more than once when he sensed something needed to be done at Mossy Swamp and that Ben might be able to Read more