Not Certain
Quail are easy marks for the hunter. Usually they “roost” in a stubble field in a circle, heads outward, and thus they keep warmer during the cold weather. I have known pot-hunters to shoot into a covey in the early morning before they began to feed, killing almost every one.
A Sure Point
Photo by W. S. Bell
It is rare sport to start out with the dogs on a November morning after a fall of snow, light, but sufficient to show the footprints—three toes in front, one behind. By this time the birds are strong of flight and at their best. After “heeling” the dogs, the trail is followed. The birds will separate and run hither and thither, always, however, coming together again so that their tracks cross and recross each other over the field. Snow always makes the birds wild, and invariably when feeding they will take to flight long before the dogs are near enough to make a point. A good dog takes the stubble field with the wind in his favor. Getting a fresh scent as the birds are feeding he throws his head and tail in the air and “rhodes” on. Occasionally the bird will run a short distance before taking to wing; then the dog shows his lack of training by running helter-skelter as the hunter shouts, “Steady, steady, old girl!” or “old boy”; or if well trained, the noble fellow returns with his tail between his legs, as much as to say to his master: “It was not my fault they wouldn’t lie to cover; it wasn’t my fault; give me another chance!” The humane master cautions his dog to be careful; the brute probably kicks his dog unmercifully, and all because of lack of knowledge on his part. If he had understood his dog he would have known from its actions that the birds were feeding in the cornfield where there was not much shelter, and that if time had been given them they would have found cover and the old dog would have made a beautiful point. The birds in the beginning of the open season will not make a long flight, but pitch abruptly over handy cover, such as an old fence grown with briars, elder, and grass. The dogs follow the windward side with nostrils dilated and the delicate membrane of their olfactory nerves detects the whereabouts of the little feathered creature concealed in a tuft of grass or a bunch of leaves. When the briars are real thick occasionally the little bird does not take to wing easily, but in great alarm runs about, neck extended, tail expanded, and crest erect, calling “peep, peep,” as though loath to leave cover.
Orchard Nest of Mourning Dove