The Key

The Sunday following Thanksgiving, Paducah, Kentucky. The six handlers of the twelve entries gathered at seven am at the clubhouse of the West Kentucky Wildlife Management Area. Rain poured down relentlessly, as it had through the night. There would be no morning running, likely no afternoon. Breakfast was being served by a local church group. The handlers filled their plates, quickly emptied them, then gathered around the roaring fireplace, glad of a day’s rest for their entries and themselves. Read more

The Bad Summer

For 130 summers they had trekked north in July to the northern prairies with their young bird dogs. They sought relief from the brutal southern heat, and the game birds that thrived on the vast open lands. For two months they worked their pupils early mornings and long late afternoons. The effect could be magic on a talented pupil, transforming a gangly pup into an accomplished all-age derby performer, that performer every trainer-handler sought but seldom found. Read more

Diss and Ace

“What does diss mean?” Ben asked Joanne. “Disrespect, or a put down. Kids say it a lot.” “That clears things up,” Ben said. He had just got off the phone with Fred Carter, a bird dog trainer-handler worried about getting sued. He’d said an owner had dissed his scout, and that was maybe the cause of the incident that could get him sued by the owner. Later that day, Ben drove to Fred’s little farm to get more facts. He was greeted by ten kennel runs of barking bird dogs. Fred and his scout, Benny Blevins, were cleaning runs and preparing the evening’s feed for the dogs. Read more

Three Men and a Dog

Billy Bowles arrived at the Ames Plantation Saturday at noon and took his lone entry to the Trapp Memorial Kennels where he had reserved a run and two stalls nearby for his mounts. He heeled the pointer Rip from his truck to the run after hanging his own water bucket inside the door and putting fresh hay in the plastic barrel. (Rip as always had traveled from Georgia in the truck’s front seat beside Billy). Read more

Blowout

He heard the blast and felt the lurch simultaneously, and knew in an instant what had happened. Trailer tire blown, no spare. He fought the wheel, not daring to brake, then grappled for control, avoid a jackknife, the ditch…he was stopped, ten feet off the left edge of the interstate pavement. He got out, confirmed the four horses were all standing. Using a flashlight, confirmed none of the four were bleeding. Read more

Burn or Bury (A deadly serious story)

Ike Slapp died after surviving two wives and leaving two daughters, one by each wife. Ben was fishing in Montana with Sam when Ike bit the dust, literally and figuratively. Ike’s older daughter took the bull by the horns and arranged Ike’s funeral and burial without consulting Ben or her sister. When Ben got home he found Ike snug in his coffin, buried in a local cemetery with (literally) his first wife. Read more

Long Leaf or Concrete

It was a dread but familiar problem. How to solve it and satisfy long-waiting heirs and at the same time save a landmark of unique natural beauty was the challenge. Fred Fulton had owned Leaning Pine Plantation fifty years, bought it with the proceeds of his early and first big business deal. He had stewarded it lovingly since, even as urban development approached it relentlessly. Read more

Last Hunt

John Cole had been hunt master on Old Pine Plantation thirty years. Before that he had worked on other plantations in the quail belt, that land between Albany and Tallahassee where quail still thrived, thanks to Yankee old money, fire, and God’s providence. Read more

Whatsleft Plantation

Whatsleft Plantation enjoyed a special place in the hearts of Ben Reach and Sam Nixon MD. It lay on the edge of Thomasville. It had been in the family of its owner Frank Atkinson since 1880 when his great-grandfather discovered it while escaping Cleveland’s ice and snow and lodging at a fashionable Thomasville resort hotel, that day’s equivalent of The Breakers in Palm Beach. Read more