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The Smith Setter Celebration
It’s tough to beat the warm days and cool nights of Georgia in the Spring. The high heat and humidity, the kind that drives field trailers in droves to the Dakotas, the Rockies, or Canada, hasn’t yet hit. The sounds of songbirds float on the light-variable winds, while the thundering gobbles of Eastern wild turkeys echo through the fields and draws. Bird doggers hear them, but they’re really listening for the ‘poor Bob White’ whistle. Gentleman Bob has been an important part of life on the land off of Ben Hatcher Road for a long time.
A Dread Problem and a Solution
Sam Teel and Booty Blevins had been partners ten years, never had a fight. They argued some about how to fix a problem, but each knew that was healthy. They didn't make much money, but loved what they did for a living, training and handling pointing dogs on the field trial circuit.
The Hunt Goes On
In the early 70s bird hunting was at its peak in Eastern North Carolina. I was a youngster still and loved to tag along on hunts with family and longed to have my own dogs. It was about this time that I attended my first bird dog field trial, a horseback event being held near my Uncle Henry’s farm. It was there that I first remember meeting Dr. W.C. Sanderson. He was there to compete as was his brother “Dute” Sanderson, a popular local professional dog trainer.
My Life As A Field Trial Reporter
From 1995 until 2022 I had two professions, lawyer and pointing dog field trial reporter. The first to earn money to pay creditors and afford to indulge in the second, pursued for the pleasure it brought me.
The Poop Scoop
My brace of setter drifted in and out of view. Their range was typical for their shooting dog genetics, and when I couldn’t see them my focus turned to the long skeins of Spanish moss that dripped from every cypress branch. Wind gusts pulsed the moss like a summer breeze luffs weeping willow stems. On one such I could see far ahead and Cider and Bee were on point.
What Billy Morton Taught me
By the early 70's wild birds were getting harder and harder to come by. Subdivisions and trailer parks grew up right where our old covey haunts were. Ever the optimists, we started a little walking shooting dog club. 'Shoot to kill', it was called back then. We knocked along for a few years, and our dogs were getting better, or worse, according to who you asked, different for sure. We subscribed to the American Field and read, religiously, accounts from all over the states and Canada. A whole new world opened to us. We read about Miller's White Cloud, Red Water Rex, The setter, Johnny Crocket, all the old legends, and their handlers.
A Lost Dog
It was July 15, 2003 and Billy Culp was fixin’ to turn loose for a workout his first green derby of the season. He was training this year on a new place just east of Lignite and south of Route 5. There were twenty pointing dog trainers working within a forty-mile radius of Billy , two hundred or more in the state, some serious pros, some serious amateurs, some just guys with a dog or two and a pickup truck.
The Last Hour Dog
Ben and Sam were alone in Ben's library-conference room on a cold and cloudy year-end Friday afternoon. The week had been brutal for both curmudgeons. Sam had had to tell a favorite patient her cancer had returned. Ben had had to tell a grandfather his favorite grandson had been expelled from prep school.
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. He'd been born on one where his father before him had trained bird dogs and managed hunts for the owner and his guests, "folks with more money than good sense," his father used to say.
One Who Gave For Us-And Paid A Price
"Ask not what your country can do for you; ask what you can do for your country."
Field Trials Matter
Most scouts yawn when linemen run 40's, but not at the 2020 combine. Mekhi Becton, a 6-foot-7-inch, 364 pound offensive lineman out of Louisville ran a blistering 5.1. Heads didn't turn so much as they spun off of heads, for what current lineman of Beckton's size runs what used to be speed of yesteryear's fullback? My, my have times changed.
Shadow Oak Bo Remembered by Tom Word
I treasure many memories of Shadow Oak Bo, the first and clearest (I can watch it like a movie in mind's eye today) at Coney Lake in the Lee County All-Age when Bo was a first year. I was riding with Luke Weaver in his pickup, following in the course path. Bo had a pretty find just ahead and we both said, "Wow, that's a handsome setter." A couple minutes later he had another and got too close, bumping the bird. Luke stopped where we could watch Robin after judges and gallery moved on. Robin administered a stern correction with a rein to Bo's chest, and an instant after, Bo, undaunted, was licking Robin's hands, with tail wagging, happy as could be.
Two Heroes - by Tom Word
They are two heroes , both Pennsylvanians, both Vietnam combat veterans. Both are pointing dog professionals. One is a Marine, one is Army. They both saw much combat, and that has had its inevitable consequences, physical and mental.
