Day's End: Big Running Dog

“Where is your dog, Joe?”

- Joseph Sands

My cousin Brian has a knack for asking poignant questions. My English pointer, Miller, had run over the ridge several minutes prior and was now out of sight.

“He usually ranges a little at the beginning of a hunt until he burns off a bit of energy. I’m sure he will check in any minute. Hey, Dad, have you seen the dog?”

Dad shook his head and continued through the buckbrush toward the creek. Our New Year’s Day mountain quail hunt was off to a slow start. Not only was it the first day of the year, but it was also my birthday. I’d stayed up late the night before; we were in southern Oregon wine country after all. I lacked energy for a dog search.