The Qualification of Reb

For Billy Kell, it seemed the worst possible day of his life. It did not turn out that way. This is the story. It was 2004. Billy was an up-and-coming bird dog pro, age twenty-eight, a trainer-handler of pointing dogs for field trial competition. He’d grown up the son of a quail plantation manager near Thomasville, Georgia, who earlier had been the plantation’s dog trainer and hunt manager. Read more

The Transition ~ Part Two

Allen Ames left Ben’s office at 5, Ben having told him he’d ponder how best to approach a deal with Ed Tate to take over his string. Doc arrived for the Curmudgeons’ ritual end-of-week shared libation. Ben explained Allen’s dream as they sipped their first drams of The Macallan. “What do you suppose Ed Tate has got to live on in retirement?” Sam asked. Read more

The Transition ~ Part One

“Ed Tate is going to have to retire,” Sam Nixon M. D. told Ben Reach at breakfast at Millie’s Diner. “Why?” Ben asked. “Heart disease, plus emphysema. Lifelong smoker,” Sam said. “How old is Ed?” Ben asked. “Sixty-seven,” Sam said. Read more

A Conspiracy With a Happy Ending

They had been rivals since 1916, the year of the first Yankee Field Trial, that trial held every Presidents Day by the Georgia-Florida Field Trial Club and called by its members (all quail plantation owners) the Owner’s Trial. They were three adjoining quail plantations, owned by cousins now, once by siblings, children of the same Cleveland Robber Baron, a coal and iron ore man, fabulously wealthy, who owned them all and called it Heavenfield. Read more

The Problem

Ben got the call out of the blue. He had never heard of Ronnie Bowles. The young man introduced himself as an aspiring amateur horseback field trailer from Maryland (Maryland, where in Hell can you run a bird dog in Maryland? Ben thought. Read more

The First Year

“I need your help with a patient,” Sam Nixon MD told his pal Ben Reach while the curmudgeons were waiting for their breakfasts in their customary booth in Millie’s Diner. “What’s his problem?” Ben asked. “On the verge of a nervous breakdown. Bird dog handler, got one that won everything last season, can’t keep him at all this season. He was expecting to continue winning this season, but every time he turns him loose there is a screw up,” Sam said. Read more

The Entry Fees

“Why do all the old field trial guys treat you so kindly, Ben?” Sam asked during a sundown session in Ben’s library-conference room on a Friday afternoon. The curmudgeons had just poured themselves drams of The Macallan 12, and Ben had just got off the phone with a friend and some-time client inquiring if Ben knew of any quail plantation jobs needing filling (it was March and the “spring shuffle” time for such hands was in full bloom). Read more