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“Suddenly the scene is frozen for you. The mental camera clicks with Spook mouthin’ his retrieve, and Polly chasin’ a cripple through the blackberry bushes, and Buck tenderly handin’ Pete one of his two kills. And the whole thing is etched on your memory like one of the frames in a slide-projector, full color. Dark green lob-lolly pines, backing golden strawfield, brown blobs of hunters, white setters, sky now dolomite blue, and cottontufts of clouds just touched with slanting sunshine. The day goes on, and there’s a fullness in it. The warmth of good companions, the steady, not-too-perfect dog work, the high excitement of the search, the pleasant lull between the points. - A Letter to My Cousin By David H. Henderson” — Jim Casada
Suddenly the scene is frozen for you. The mental camera clicks with Spook mouthin’ his retrieve, and Polly chasin’ a cripple through the blackberry bushes, and Buck tenderly handin’ Pete one of his two kills. And the whole thing is etched on your memory like one of the frames in a slide-projector, full color. Dark green lob-lolly pines, backing golden strawfield, brown blobs of hunters, white setters, sky now dolomite blue, and cottontufts of clouds just touched with slanting sunshine.
The day goes on, and there’s a fullness in it. The warmth of good companions, the steady, not-too-perfect dog work, the high excitement of the search, the pleasant lull between the points.
- A Letter to My Cousin By David H. Henderson