Some of my best times as a young man were afield with my Uncle Lem hunting quail.
He and his wife, Opal, owned and leased about 1500 acres of grass and farm land in the Oklahoma panhandle where he raised cattle and grew wheat. He was a couple of years older than my dad and they were very close throughout their lives. Dad had also been a rancher/farmer in his younger years but had to leave that occupation because he had his leg amputated as the result of a lingering injury from a horse accident when he was a boy and was no longer able to handle the physical rigor of that work.
From the very beginning of my life Uncle Lem and I had a special relationship. One of my favorite photos is of me about four years old on a Christmas morning wearing my first cowboy boots that he gave me. He is looking over my shoulder with a smile on his face as I exhibited my new footwear.
When I was 13 years old Dad and Uncle Lem agreed that it was time for me to go to work for him on his farm. As soon as school was dismissed for the summer I started operating a tractor pulling a one-way plow six days a week from sunup to sundown. During the school year I would also work for him on occasional Saturdays and during other school breaks.
A great quail dog named Sam
Uncle Lem was an avid quail hunter and he had a German Shorthaired Pointer that he named Sam to help him. During my high school and college days we enjoyed many great hunts together. Sam was an excellent quail dog and one particular hunt in December stands out in my mind when I was home from college during my junior year on Christmas break.
It was a beautiful, crisp, cold day filled with sunshine. I had gotten up early that morning before daybreak and left my mom’s home in the small town where she lived and drove out to Uncle Lem’s farm and arrived about the time the sun started rising. I got there so I could help him feed hay to his cattle off the back of a truck. I remember being excruciatingly cold standing on the truck bed pushing the hay off to the cows and I was grateful for the use some of his insulated coveralls to keep the biting wind chill from my frame.
After we finished feeding, we headed back to his house and were treated to a hearty breakfast that Aunt Opal had waiting for us. After a few cups of coffee to warm us, we donned warm outer wear, gathered our shotguns and shells, whistled for Sam to jump in the back of his pickup and headed out to find some quail.
Uncle Lem said that he had seen a covey alongside a road not far from his house so we headed in that direction. We pulled off the road through a gate into a pasture and parked. We got out, opened the tail gate for Sam to jump out and started loading our shells into our guns.
Right in front of where we parked was a clump of several sage brushes that had grown close together. Sam had not taken but a few steps when he immediately went on point at the sage brush cluster. Uncle Lem whispered to me, “Get ready,” and we walked slowly up behind Sam and then he said, “Okay, Sam.” On that cue Sam jumped into the middle of the sage brush and out exploded about 10 birds scattering in different directions.
Each of us fired and we knocked down three birds. Uncle Lem gave the verbal cue to Sam to retrieve and he immediately bounded off and recovered two of the downed birds and brought them back in his mouth at one time. He dropped them at our feet and then happily ran off to fetch the third.
Sam would not come off his point
We picked up our game and started to reload our shotguns, but then Sam immediately went back on point at the same clump of bushes. Thinking that he still smelled the lingering scent of the covey that had been there, Uncle Lem commanded, “Let’s go, Sam,” but he wouldn’t budge. He stood rigidly still, one foreleg lifted off the ground, his tail pointing out straight and his eyes locked ahead. So, I stepped into the sage brush and again, to our surprise, two more quail lifted into the air. We both took aim and down came the two birds.
Sam ran to retrieve and brought them back gleefully. We praised him for his good work, put them in our game sack and reloaded again.
Then, yet again, Sam went back on point at the same bushes. We knew there was no way there could be any more quail there. Surely all the activity and noise would have flushed them out. Uncle Lem again called him off the point but, as before, he would not budge. So, he stepped up to take hold of his collar to pull him away and then, sure enough, one last quail flew up and away from us. I pulled up my gun and shot our sixth bird as a result of Sam’s third point.
Sam retrieved the bird and then he started on his way to try to find the singles that had landed from the covey ahead of us. He knew there were no more quail left in the clump of sage brushes.
It was remarkable to behold the keen sensitivity, dedication and tenacity of this marvelous animal to carry out his task. Some of his skill was taught, but most of what he did that day was simply living out his raison d’être that God instilled in him.
It was glorious to behold. I could only describe him as being exultant. He was fully alive and thrilled by each moment and aspect of the hunt. It wasn’t a job to him but a joy, and he gave it everything he had.
We spent the rest of the day traveling behind Sam as he scouted out more quail. In the late afternoon we came to the end of our hunt only two birds shy of our combined Iimit. It was a very satisfying day of companionship with Uncle Lem and the joy of watching his trusty quail dog, Sam, work.
I traveled back home to my mother’s house that evening as the sun was sinking and the chill of the evening was quickly settling in. When I arrived, I cleaned the nine quail I had and Mom put them in a pan of water and placed them in the refrigerator.
I was chilled, dirty and really weary after a very long day that began before dawn and was filled with farm chores and then walking miles behind Sam carrying a shotgun.
I went to bed early and sighed contentedly as I sank into the warm covers to hold off the night chill and slept soundly through the night.
Waking to a sumptuous smell
The next morning I was awakened by a pleasant smell permeating the house. I heard Mom bustling about. I got out of bed, donned my clothes and walked into the kitchen. Coffee had finished brewing, a fresh batch of biscuits had just come from the oven, a platter of golden fried quail sat on the stove and Mom was putting the last touches on some cream gravy from the quail drippings and crumbs.
We sat down to a sumptuous breakfast that was was doubly delicious because it came from the previous day’s hunt. Those couple of days right before Christmas were a delight to a twenty year old college kid home from school on break.
The time with Uncle Lem is a cherished memory. The sight of Sam’s thrice unyielding point is still vivid in my mind. I can still almost taste my Mom’s special touch on a quail and biscuit and gravy breakfast.
All three have passed on into eternity, but I’m sure I’ll carry that special college Christmas time memory in 1971 with me for the rest of my days.
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