If you ever walked a day
Behind your bird dog after quail
Across farmland in Virginia
In the days before fescue
You know
You know how the quail
Lived in the pastures
In the fallow fields and cutovers
Where ragweed and lespedeza
Bloomed and bore seed in the summer
Where a broke dog
Or a derby or a puppy
With a decent nose
Could find quail
To point solid or for a flash
Where a derby
Could break itself
In a season
And a puppy sometimes too
If it had the natural talent
It was a magic time and place
For us bird hunters
Who toiled to make a living
And on Saturdays
And stolen days
Followed our bird dogs afoot
In early fall without gun
To get them and us in shape
Then from opening day
To season's end
With a shotgun plain or fancy
With a pal or two we trusted
Trusted to be safe
Not shoot us or our dog
And him trusting us the same
Twas not a game for crowds
Permissions were precious
Beyond memberships prestigious
And for city dwellers like me
A friendship with a farmer
Topped a judgeship on the wish list
When I was thirty-five
I had the luck to make
Deep friendships with a farmer and his buddy
Who loved bird dogs and bird hunting
Just as I did and had access to territory
In the fall of 1973
I met Joe Prince and Denny Poole
Of Stony Creek
Bird hunters to the bone
Who would become my dear, dear friends
Joe farmed grain and peanuts
On his land and lands he rented
Worked it seven days a week
March through mid-November
Then he turned to hunting quail on that land and other
Denny served as building official
Inspecting for building code compliance
In Sussex County that was doublewides and singlewides
And a Tasty Freeze or two a year
This made Denny a natural covey scout
Denny had a secret weapon
In our quest for hunt permissions
His wife Ann was a beautician
Did the hair and was a friend of most the ladies
Of western Sussex County
From 1973 til Joe died in a tractor accident in 1997
A fate I had predicted
Joe, Denny and I
Walked the farms and cutovers
Of Western Sussex and Dinwiddie
Oh, what fun we had
Following bird dogs we had bred
Watched grow from pups to old dogs
Becoming masters
Of the art of finding, pointing, and retrieving
Our beloved wild native farm quail
Now the quail are gone
And so are Joe and Denny
And I am very old and soon will be
But I know I’ve had the best sport
Walking behind bird dogs with friends after wild quail in Virginia
