Preacher John Part VII - A Home Cooking

The time came to leave the prairie camp behind.  It had been a great summer for Bobby Pickett and his string of dogs.  Rebel Yell, on his way to winning the Prairie Award, qualified for the National that summer.  His littermate Rebel Girl, who they called Sal, only needed a second qualifying placement as she had won the last championship they’d run.  Two other dogs on the string, Tort Reform, a dog that belonged to a lawyer from Chicago, and Sub Prime, owned by a developer from Atlanta who was almost underwater himself, had qualified in the spring.  There were other dogs in Bobby’s string that had the potential but just weren’t quite there yet.  Four dogs in the National would give him a good chance to hit that magical moment in February when the weather in West Tennessee cooperated and the birds at Ames were out on the edges feeding.  And then there was Buster.

      Bobby had brought his mentor, who had been called Preacher John back in the day when he’d been one of the top all-age trainers on the circuit, north for the summer.  John had quit field trialing when he was 50 to stay close to home after his wife had a stroke.  Now 25 years later his wife, Etta Mae, had passed and Bobby had convinced John to return to the prairies with him for the summer and had gotten him to work with Buster.  Under John’s tutelage, Buster had become the hottest derby on the prairie and had come very close to winning a championship.  Bobby tried to look at Buster objectively without the emotions he felt for John, for Buster, and for Trey Sutton who had saved Buster from going to another trainer.  When he stepped away from all that, he still came to the same conclusion.  Buster was the best young dog he’d ever had on his string — maybe the best prospect he’d ever seen.  He knew a lot could happen along the way — an injury, snakebite, a desire to hunt porcupines, a different owner, and many other things could cause Buster’s career to go awry — but with a few breaks Buster could be a great one.  As he analyzed it he knew that John was responsible for making all the right moves with Buster and would be critical to the dog’s future.  Some dogs didn’t care who blew the whistle on the horse behind them, but Buster was one of those dogs that feed off the bond felt with a trainer.  In Bobby’s mind the real hurdle for Buster was making sure that John stayed around long enough to help the dog realize his potential.

      Bobby really didn’t know what to expect from a 75 year old man: his own father had died young and in many ways John had been the father figure in his life when he had first brought him north all those years ago.  The return to the prairies and the success with Buster was just a down payment on what Bobby felt he owned John.  And now he was talking about going home.  They were packed up and ready to head out in the morning to go to a small qualifying stake to the south.  As John, Bobby, and Mack, John’s scout and full time assistant, sat around the dinner table in the old farmhouse that had originally been leased by John almost 50 years ago, John seemed distracted as he pushed the food around on his plate and half-heartedly ate a few bites. 

      “You feeling alright?”  Bobby asked with genuine concern.

      “I’m fine.” The old man said to his food.

      “Then what’s bugging you?”

      “I’m just wondering how I’m going to get home.”

      “We’ll get there. We just got some trials to go to along the way.”

      “I came for the summer on the prairies.  It seems like summer’s over and I should get back to Georgia.”

      “What’s your rush?”

      “Bobby, it was real special of you to bring me up here, but you don’t need to be taking care of me while you’re on the road.”

      “Seems like you pretty much took care of yourself this summer.  You pulled your weight and then some.”

      “Yeah but. . .”

      “But nothing, John. What are you going to do at home?  Besides, what happens to Buster if you leave?  Are you planning to take him with you?”

      “No.  I figured you’d take over from here on out.”

      “I don’t think he’ll do for me what he does for you.  Trey may own him, but he’s your dog and you know it.  You can’t just up and leave him.”

      “Bobby, I love you like you were one of my own children, but I’m 75 years old and I’m well beyond the time when I could live out of a suitcase and eat diner food every night.”

      “How do you know?”

      “What do you mean?”

      “Look, John, we can argue this all night, but we’ve got a long drive tomorrow to get to the next field trial grounds.  I’ll make a deal with you.  You come along on the road with us and if at anytime you’ve had enough I’ll drive you to the nearest airport and buy you a ticket to Albany.”

      John didn’t answer right away.  He thought about the summer.  The joy he had felt riding good horses and watching great dogs.  The camaraderie of working dogs with Bobby and Mack and the excitement of running Buster and seeing what he was becoming.  It really did come down to the dog.  Buster had given everything John had asked of him and now John had to make a commitment of his own.

      He looked at Bobby and held his stare for a long moment before he spoke, “You knew back on the first day we got here that it would come to this.” Bobby started to answer as he fought the grin on his face, “Don’t even bother to come up with some slick story.  I’ll ride along and see what comes of it.  But I’m holding you to your offer.  If I say enough, you put me on a plane home.”

      Bobby looked at Mack who had also grown fond of Preacher John and they grinned at each other, “Deal.” Bobby stuck out his hand and John shook it.

      John excused himself from the table and went out to the kennel as he did every night after dinner and let Buster out in the yard.  When the dog had done his business, the two of them headed back into the house where Buster went to his spot on the rug between the couch and the TV.  The three men talked a little about the upcoming trial and which dogs they were going to enter.  As this was not a championship, but still a qualifier for the National, Bobby planned to leave out the three dogs that were already qualified.  He would run Rebel Girl and some of the other all-age dogs on the string along with his derbies.  He convinced John to run Buster in both the derby and the all-age.  Bobby looked down at his list of entries and pulled out his cell phone.  John got up and headed to his room with Buster following.  As he got ready for bed, John looked down at the dog curled up on the rug in his room and before he turned out the light he said, “I’m going to stick with you a little longer, Buster, but if I can’t keep up on the road, Bobby’s going to have to take over for me.  I’ll give it my all if you will.”

      The dog had raised his head and listened attentively.  John felt the dog understood almost everything he said to him, but he was never sure if he was going to pay attention.  This was part of the thrill of running a big going all-age derby.  You never knew for sure when he went over the next hill if you’d find him standing his birds or long gone out on his own.  There was the time earlier in the summer when just before time Buster had disappeared to the front only to be found a few miles away chasing waterfowl out of the shallows of a lake.  There needs to be a long string between an all-age dog and its handler, it needs to be thinner than on a lot of the other circuits and it could break at any moment.  This was why those who understood it loved the all-age — being on the edge.  The margin between winning and gone-over-the-hill was always razor thin.

      In the morning they loaded up the dogs, horses, and their travel bags.  Everything else had been packed up the day before.  The four-wheeler had been stowed in one of the sheds.  Bobby made a final check of everything as Mack and John cleaned and washed the kennels for the last time until next summer.  They had come north with 32 dogs and 6 horses.  Over a dozen of the dogs had already been sent back.  Some were plantation dogs that Bobby had worked for the summer, others were field trial hopefuls that didn’t make the string.  They were left with 10 shooting dogs and 7 derbies to go on the road with.  Other pros carried more, but Bobby had learned long ago from John that quality beat quantity almost all of the time. 

      When they pulled out in the morning, Bobby was behind the wheel with John in the passenger seat.  Mack and Buster were in the back seat.  As the big dually ate up the miles, the three men talked of the grounds they were going to.  It was a good size ranch with some crop fields, CRP, and lots of range land.  It was pretty much a regional trial and according to the trial chairman, Bobby would be the only major circuit pro there.  It was in a transitional zone that was still far enough north for pheasants and sharptails, yet far enough south to provide a chance on a covey or two of quail.  The grounds weren’t as wide open as the northern prairie venues but there was plenty of room for a true all-age dog to run.  The only thing that worried Bobby was the judges for the all-age were both local guys and customers of the one pro in the region.  The local pro wouldn’t be running the judge’s dogs, but he had plenty of others that he’d put down for them to look at.  If that wasn’t enough home cooking, the grounds were leased by the pro who trained on them in the summer and guided hunters there during the bird season.

      Bobby hadn’t shared all this with John and Mack, but it was enough that he had seriously thought about skipping the trial.  He hoped that Buster, Sal, or one of the other dogs he had entered would shine enough that they could not be denied a placement.  He wasn’t as worried about the derby: the judges for that were men he’d run under in the past and above reproach, and besides all the derbies that were still with him had at least placed over the summer and were now qualified to run in most championships when they were ready.  It was Buster and Sal that he worried about.  The National was still months away but the time would fly by as they tried to get both dogs qualified.  Not many derbies have run at the National and few have shined in the three hour endurance stake, usually the victims of their own youthful exuberance, but he knew if they could get Buster there he just might be the exception.  It was the one trial that John had failed to win in the 30 years he had been on the circuit.  It would be a heck of an accomplishment for a 75 year old man to do it with a dog that wasn’t yet three.

      When they arrived at the grounds they ran out their chains and got the dogs out and watered them.  The horses were each led over to a water trough and then staked out in the field around the trailer.  All the animals were fed and left to relax while the three men walked over to the old bunkhouse that had been fixed up over the years to be used as a clubhouse.  The trial chairman shook their hands and invited them to have a bowl of chili that he had made for the evening meal. 

      This was the annual party for the locals and it had started well before Bobby, Mack, and John had arrived.  One of the revelers came over to the table as the three of them were finishing their chili.  He held a copy of the draw sheet in his hand and looked down at it and then at Bobby, “Aren’t we good enough for your ‘A’ team?”

      Bobby thought about not answering the man.  There was no right answer here.  It was obvious to everyone why he left out the dogs that were already qualified for the National and to wave the draw sheet in front of him and ask the question was just intentional belligerence fueled by too much alcohol.  He wanted to tell the man what to do with his attitude and his draw sheet.  In fact in his younger days he would have been happy to stuff the paper into the guy’s mouth, but that was then.  This time he just smiled up at the guy and said, “My customers decide which trials their dogs are entered in, I just run ‘em.”

      That left the guy speechless for a moment.  He had come for at least an argument.  He looked at Mack and Preacher John and couldn’t see any use in trying to provoke them.  He turned to leave, then stopped and looked back down at Bobby who was spooning up the last bite of his dinner, “Let me tell you, Mr. High and Mighty big time pro, we got some damn fine bird dogs around here and they’ll show yours how it’s done.”

      “If they do, it won’t be the first time I’ve been beat, and it will definitely not be the last.”  It was not what he really wanted to say, but that really didn’t matter.  It had taken Bobby a long time to reach the understanding that all that mattered was the time between “let ‘em go” and “pick ‘em up.”

      After the guy weaved back to his table full of drinkers, they finished their meals and went out to the trialer.  The horses and dogs were used to the routine.  The horses would be fine on the stakeouts for the night but the dogs always went back in the trailer and the doors to their kennels locked.  Buster was the exception; he would ride into town and sleep on the floor next to John’s bed.  There were enough stories of dead or sick dogs left out on the chains that most pros kept their dogs locked up at night.  It was after dark before they reached the motel in town and it would be very early when they headed back to the grounds to get ready for the day’s running.  Bobby followed Mack and John into their room with the draw sheet.

Preacher John Part VI-B

Part VI-B

      As they picked up the dogs, one of the judges rode over to the Kentuckian and said something.  The handler started cussing and everyone heard him tell the judge that the last find was clearly a divided find.  The judge wasn’t about to argue as he knew the man well.  He turned his horse and rode over to break away the next brace.  Three more braces ran before lunch with no more birds pointed.  The judges decided to take a long break in hopes that the heat of the day would dissipate.  This would put Buster in the last brace of the afternoon and the birds might be moving by the end of it.  As they stood around under the awnings of the trailers that had them, everyone talked about the “divided” find.  Many agreed they wouldn’t name a runner-up if the big, white dog was all they had for second at the end of the trial.  Bobby stayed out of it.  Judges rarely withheld placements and there were still lots of good dogs to run. 

      When the judges finally called for the next brace, there was little relief from this last blast of summer.  The only consolation was that a gentle breeze was rippling the short grass prairie.  Bobby and Luce rode at the back of the small gallery and talked.  Well, mostly Luce talked and Bobby listened which was fine by both of them.  She asked a lot of questions about the dogs and the different handlers’ styles.  Some were loud, others raced all over the place trying to keep track of their dogs.  Others just rode along and pointed out their dog from time to time which was the way Bobby had handled Girl in the first brace and the other two dogs he had in the morning.  He had one more in the second brace after lunch and then two tomorrow with Rebel Yell in the final brace.  The handlers picked up at the 40 minute mark with no birds and both dogs letting down a little in the heat.  Bobby hoped his brace would go the hour if for no other reason than to allow Buster to run later in the day.

      When his brace started the temperature had reached its highest point of the day and already the shadows were getting longer.  The ground was baked hard and the dogs were followed by a small cloud of dust that quickly blew away in the breeze.  He lasted until the 45 minute mark when his bracemate picked up.  He knew his dog wasn’t making any money.  If he didn’t pick up as well it would become obvious what he was trying to do which might count against Buster.  He signaled to Mack and his dog was soon in the harness.  The marshal radioed for the dog truck which arrived within a few minutes.  Just about everyone grabbed a bottle of water from the truck in hopes of staying hydrated.  John got Buster out and tried to get him to drink.  When he would have none of it John led him over to the water trough, threw him in and said whoa.  Buster just stood there until John called him out and led him to the line.  Bobby was torn between having Mack scout and riding in the gallery with Luce or scouting himself and helping John.  Luce saw the conflict on his face and told him she’d rather talk to Mack as Bobby wouldn’t be very good company if he was worrying about John and Buster.

      Bobby took Buster and led him to the line.  The Kentuckian he had been braced with in the morning was scouting this brace and, he avoided the usual courtesy of wishing John and Bobby good luck.  They broke them away and Buster took off like the temperature was below 50 instead of over 90.  He was soon a distant speck on the horizon.  It worried John that his old eyes wouldn’t be able to pick out the dog in this big country.  But he and Buster had a connection that was more than visual and he always seemed to be looking in the right spot when Buster would show on a distant hill or come out of the head of a draw.  Bobby soon had his horse in a full lather as he tried to stay in position to help the wide ranging pointer.  The other handler rode next to John and sang the whole time even though no one had seen his dog since about the five minute mark and his scout had gone MIA as well. 

      Buster never slowed: he just kept eating up the prairie as he ranged further and further in search of a bird.  The gallery was buzzing and the judges were sitting up in their saddles as they stayed close behind John.  Buster made a big move to the right side of the course and Bobby shadowed him.  John could see Bobby and let his dog hunt, He’d let him run back to North Dakota if he could find a bird there – it wasn’t all that far as the crow flew or the all age dog ran.  John saw him go over a distant hill and reined in his horse.  The course was starting to turn away from Buster.  The other handler started to ride away but neither judge followed him and he stopped.   A minute passed and then two.  John had faith in Bobby and in his dog.  They would show soon or Bobby would ride to the high ground and call point.

      Bobby finally spotted Buster standing in a distant draw and then he saw something that made him sick to his stomach as the other scout saw the dog and not Bobby and practically rode over the dog as he flushed the birds and went on.  Bobby yelled.  The man looked up, surprised, and then rode on.  Bobby went to Buster and reassured him that he had done nothing wrong.  He watered him, put him in heel, and loped back to the course.  When Buster saw John and the rest of the field trial party he kicked into overdrive and blew by them to the front as though the hour was just starting.   When time was called, Buster was crossing from right to left on a distant ridge line looking like he could run the rest of the day and into the night if they’d only let him.  When John got on his whistle and rode for him, Buster reluctantly came to him.  Most likely the dog was thinking how an hour stake was more than twice the fun of a half hour stake.  He was obviously a dog that would not have any problem with the endurance stakes if he was given the opportunity.

      When Buster was back on the dog truck, they all rode into the headquarters and the beer and cookout that was to be the Saturday night entertainment.  Bobby didn’t say anything to anyone about what had happened.  He figured this was between him and Mr. Big Shot Amateur.  There may have been a time when that sort of cutthroat practice was a part of the game but all the pros had too much riding on each and every performance to mess with another handler’s dog.  They were already feeding the dogs when Buster’s bracemate was finally rounded up and the handler and scout rode into camp. 

      Bobby excused himself from the chores and walked over to the big man on his big horse.  He planted himself squarely in front of his horse, “I would like to have a word with you.”

      “I got nothing to say to you, sonny.” The man spurred his horse and attempted to ride right over Bobby.

      Bobby grabbed the reins and spun the horse to his left.  At the same time he grabbed the man’s ankle and dumped him out of the saddle.  He landed with a thud and the air rushed out of him.

      Bobby let the horse go and leaned down in the man’s face and spoke in a low even tone, “If you ever interfere with a dog that comes off my truck again, you can expect more than just a humiliating fall off your horse.”  The man started to get up and Bobby put a boot on his chest and held him down. “Am I making my self clear to you?”

      “Fuck you.” The man gasped when he finally had enough air in his lungs to speak.

      “I wouldn’t expect you to say anything else.”  Bobby walked away feeling good about himself. 

      The man dusted himself off and looked around for a sympathetic face.  Everyone knew Bobby, and pretty much knew what the man would have had to do to get Bobby mad enough to accost him.  Many of them would have just waited to get even, but none of them would have let it slide.  The amateur had no allies in this crowd.  Even the man he was scouting for had been surprised when he had been told what had happened.  He told another handler what the man had done and soon everyone at the trial knew the story.  What they wanted most was to beat the man’s dog that was still in the second position.  Had Buster gotten credit for his find, Girl would most likely have moved to runner-up and the big white dog would be an also ran.

      Bobby was fine once he had confronted the man and said his piece.  The only awkward part of the rest of the evening was when it became apparent that Luce had more on her mind than a final glass of wine when she invited Bobby into her room again.  In the morning Mack and John were up at the usual time and started walking the dogs.  When Bobby and Lucinda still hadn’t shown up when they were finished they walked across the parking lot to the diner and ordered breakfast.  John took a table by the window where he could see the motel and smiled as he tapped Mack on the arm when Bobby came sneaking out of Lucinda’s room.  Bobby looked around and then at his watch.  He walked over to the diner and told John and Mack he’d meet them out at the grounds as Lucinda was going to bring her car out and leave from there late that afternoon.  Mack just nodded and John smiled quietly which made Bobby blush.

      By the time they had the dogs on the stakeouts and the horses saddled Lucinda’s Mercedes SUV came rolling into the grounds.  Nothing was said.  They were all adults, and John was glad to see Bobby with a woman as smart and as nice as Lucinda, which had not been his MO earlier in his career as he seemed to attract the bad girls who thought his shyness and “aw shucks” manners were just an act.  And there was a wild side there that they easily brought out in him.  He had missed more than one early brace back in the day, but had outgrown all that.  Lucinda appealed to the adult in Bobby.  He didn’t know where it would go once he headed south, but hoped there’d be a way for the relationship to continue.

      The first brace again produced bird work and both dogs pushed the big, white pointer from Saturday’s first brace.  Most seemed to think that Girl was still on top, and they argued over which one of the dogs from Sunday’s first brace would be carried as runner-up.  Everyone was also talking about Buster and the race he had laid down in the afternoon heat.  They all agreed that had he gotten credit for his find there were very few dogs in the country that could have beaten the race he had put down.  Some wondered if he’d have anything left for the derby if they got to him that day.

      Bobby got nothing done in the next two braces.  After lunch, all that was left was to run Rebel Yell’s brace to wrap up the championship.  Jack ran a race close to or maybe even equal to Buster’s, depending on who you talked to.  It was definitely an angels and pins kind of discussion.  But no birds were pointed and it was another also ran performance.  They all rode into the headquarters for the announcement.  One of the dog’s from the Sunday morning brace was announced runner-up and Girl was declared champion.  Everyone wanted to shake Bobby’s hand except the big shot who went into his trailer and turned on his air conditioner. 

      Buster ran in the last brace of the derby that afternoon and hadn’t lost a step from the day before.  This time Mack scouted and found him on point.  With a broke find and a true prairie race everyone expected he would at least have a piece of the derby.  Most admitted they didn’t have anything that could beat him.  Lucinda headed home and Bobby, John and Mack fed the dogs and went back to the motel.  They had a couple more derbies to run in the morning and then the trial would be over.  In the past Bobby always looked forward to moving on from the prairies to the Midwest and then eventually back to the South for the winter trials.  He knew he’d go: he only needed another first place finish for Girl and he’d have two in the National and he felt that somehow Buster would get there too, but for once he was reluctant to go south as he thought about Lucinda and how she had so quickly become an important part of his life.

      Buster won the derby and one of Bobby’s dogs took third based on a really strong ground race.  Buster had proven something that John had only suspected up to this point.  Buster was the type of dog that people would talk about and his reputation was already well on its way.  It was a little bit like the NBA where the stars always seem to get the calls in their favor.  When a dog had the right kind of reputation, the judges always seemed to see them in a positive light.  They got the close calls going their way.  Buster looked to be headed that way and as far as John was concerned he was earning his reputation honestly – without ads in The Field or home cooking at the trials or in the reports. He didn’t have a crystal ball and had been disappointed by more than one young phenom over the years, but Buster had the brains, endurance, and that intangible something that make judges sit up and watch him which could take him to the highest levels.  John would pick his places as the year went on but this would not be the last time in his derby career that Buster would run in a championship.

Field Trial Magazine Is In Need of Help

Four times a year for the last 15 years Field Trial Magazine has been sent out to a very supportive readership.   Many people have contributed to the success of the magazine with letters, articles, advertisements, and subscriptions and I want to thank all of you.  I have done everything I can to keep the magazine going through changing media conditions and tough economic times.  Ironically in the last issue we saw a first real up-tick in ad revenue since the recession began in 2008.  However, like many other companies and even countries, I have reached a point where I cannot go on without help.  So, at this point I am hoping to find a way forward for the magazine with or without me.  What we have to offer is an established brand with a loyal following that led by the right person or group of people could continue to provide an entertaining and informative magazine as well as take advantage of other opportunities that new technologies provide.  I am open to all inquiries from anyone who has an interest in seeing Field Trial Magazine continue.  We already have most of the editorial content ready for the next issue as well as commitments from our major advertisers.  Please email me or call if you would like to talk further about continuing the independent voice we have created for the field trial community.

E-mail me at: fieldtrialmag@gmail.com

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Sincerely,

Craig Doherty, Editor

Field Trial Magazine

PS. One way you can all help is to feel free to forward this to others and/or post it on any message boards, websites, or blogs where you think other field trialers might see it.

Busting Buster's Birds Part VI-A

Monday morning found Bobby Pickett, his scout Mack, and 75 year old John Jones back in their routine of John fixing breakfast before dawn and the first brace of dogs let go as the sun peaked over the horizon.  They all had hooded sweatshirts on under their Carhartt jackets and gloves on their hands.  It might still be high summer, muggy and hot, in the quail plantation country of South Georgia where they were all from, but here on the prairie of North Dakota the days were getting shorter and the morning temperatures felt like winter in the South.

      The horses and the dogs seemed to appreciate the changing weather as the dogs pulled harder on their leads and the horses seemed to prance in anticipation of following the dogs across the prairie in the crisp morning air.  As summer was coming to a close, Bobby had made arrangements to send home some of the dogs that would not make the traveling team.  Some handlers, especially those on the shooting dog circuit, had huge strings, but Bobby always preferred quality over quantity.  He tried to pick fewer than 10 or so all age dogs and half that many derbies to take on the road with him as he worked his way south hoping to get two or three qualified for the National in February.  Rebel Yell, the best adult dog in Bobby’s string, was already qualified.  His littermate, Rebel Girl, had won the Amateur Chicken Championship but needed to win two qualifying stakes to get her first ticket to Grand Junction.  There were other dogs on the string that could get there as well if they drew the right brace at the right time and put together a race he knew they were capable of.

      Winning was the challenge.  Bobby always had his dogs ready to win and got his share of the placements but there were so many factors beyond his control – the course, the weather, the time of day, the birds, and the bracemate.  It was not unusual for a trial to be run on wild birds with multiple courses for days at a time where dog after dog goes birdless or has a covey or two.  Then a dog will come along when the conditions change a little, the birds will be out on the edges, it will have a half dozen finds, and win the championship.  The vagaries of wild birds cause many to seek out the planted bird trials on the shooting dog circuit where every dog gets some fresh birds thrown down for its brace.  Bobby figured if it ever came to that in the all age game he would give up field trials and go to work for a plantation where he could still feel that rush of excitement every time a wild covey whirred up and away.

      The next trial would be one of those tough tests where the luck of the draw would play a big part.  It was run in the short grass prairie along the border between the Dakotas and some of the courses ran on one of the Sioux Reservations.  Reports from the trainers in that area had been poor all summer with a late hatch and with few birds.  The weather report also called for one last blast of summer heat which would make it all the more difficult for the dogs.  Bobby and Trey had been talking about Buster and wanted to run him in the championship as well as the derby, but they were leaving it up to Preacher John to decide.

      John was of two minds.  Buster would have no problem with the hour or the heat.  But he was still a derby and would have time to make his mark in the world, but then at 75, John might not be there to see it.  He didn’t have to decide until they got to the draw the night before the championship was scheduled to start.  John figured he’d think about it on the drive down to the trial.  Bobby had stopped pestering him about it. 

      After Dr. Lucinda Ford had visited and ridden off for a picnic with Bobby, the phone had started ringing every evening and Bobby would wander out in the yard for private conversations.  He and Luce just chatted about their days like they were old friends.  Bobby told her how the dogs had done and assured her that Buster had no ill affects from the porcupine quills she had helped pull.  She told him about arterial transplants and the other intricacies of working with stroke victims.  They talked about Bobby’s schedule.  The trial started on a Friday and would last into the next week.  Luce was planning to come down and ride with them for the weekend.  She seemed genuinely interested in seeing a field trial and spending more time with Bobby.  He had not been looking for a relationship, but was excited about seeing her again.

      Thursday morning they loaded up the dogs and horses and headed down the road.  They were there in plenty of time to stake out the dogs and put the horses in the corrals provided by the ranch owner.  The draw was held in a hall in town at a cocktail party hosted by last year’s winning owner.  He was not there and had not been there when his dog won, but was happy to foot the bill for the 15 or so trainers and the few owners and trial officials who were there.  As they walked in the club secretary was handing out entry slips and the handlers were pulling up seats at the tables and filling them out.  John sat down next to Bobby who asked, “How many slips do you want?”

      When John said, “Two.”  Bobby smiled without comment.  He believed in the young pointer and the old man, and looked forward to having him spend the entire season with him, although they had never talked about what John’s plans were once they left their summer training grounds and began to work their way back to the trials in the South.

      Friday they would run an open all age stake that was restricted to young dogs that had not yet qualified for championship stakes.  It was something that had been done in the past, and was seeing a resurgence as many trials had upped their qualifying criteria.   The championship drew 38 dogs and would start at the conclusion of the all age the derby would run last and finish up Monday.

      The five braces of dogs in the qualifier gave the handlers a glimpse of what to expect in the championship.  Two dogs had a find a piece and they were in the first brace when it was still relatively cool.  When the first brace of the championship broke away after the lunch break it was hot and continued to get hotter as the afternoon progressed.  There was plenty of water in tanks and in the bottoms of the sloughs but no dogs pointed a bird in the four braces they got in that afternoon.  The forecast called for it to get hotter each day.  Bobby had Rebel Girl in the first brace Saturday morning, Rebel Yell was in the last brace which would run Sunday afternoon.  Buster would run his first championship brace late in the afternoon on Saturday.

      Lucinda arrived in time for supper on Friday and the four of them went out for steaks although she warned them all to limit their intake of red meat if they didn’t want to end up as one of her patients.  After dinner they got the dogs out four at a time and gave them a chance to do their business and get a drink of water before they were put up for the night.  Buster looked on with what looked like disdain from the back seat of the truck as he waited to be let out and then brought into the motel for the night.  There were times when John wondered if Buster really understood that he was a dog like the rest of the ones on the string.  It was clear that he had come to expect his position sleeping inside with John and riding in the cab of the truck. 

      Once the dogs were put up, John, Mack, and Buster headed for their motel room leaving Bobby and Luce to work out the rest of their evening on their own.  The two finally agreed to go inside and have a nightcap in Lucinda’s room.  It was late when Bobby finally headed for his own room.  Lucinda would have willingly had him stay longer, but understood the underlying shyness of the man and figured she would wait for him to figure it out on his own.

      They were all up early.  The three men had artery-clogging breakfasts at the all night diner.  Lucinda had a bowl of oatmeal and a bran muffin.  Most of the other trainers came in while they were eating.  Bobby’s bracemate in the first brace was a wealthy guy from Kentucky who bred and ran his own dogs with a lot of success.  He was somehow considered an amateur even though he profited each year from selling puppies and started dogs.  He had a full time trainer who worked his dogs and handled the young ones.  But when it came to the championships he didn’t want to share the glory with anyone.  His huge horse trailer had an apartment in the front and he was staying out at the grounds.  Bobby didn’t like being braced with the guy as his super competitiveness and his superior attitude had led him to commit some less than savory acts to take out a bracemate in the past. 

      There was always talk in the freewheeling world of field trials about the cutthroat behavior of some during the competition, but for the most part the pros helped each other when they could knowing that a good turn today could be returned at an important moment at a future trial.  The man from Kentucky wanted to win at any cost and could not be trusted during a brace.  There were a number of dogs on his string that he would use just to lessen the chances of a bracemate.  Fortunately for Bobby, Girl was braced with one of the man’s best dogs and might be his only chance to find any birds. 

      It hadn’t cooled off that much during the night and most people were wearing only a light jacket or no jacket at all as the first brace came to the line.  When Mack let Girl go and Bobby hit the whistle, Girl was off like a rocket reaching out to the front in true prairie all age fashion.  The Kentucky dog was big and strong, but his handler kept him on a shorter string.  Bobby had watched the man many times and was pretty sure it was about dominance and control.  When his trainer had run the dog as a derby he was as good as any derby Bobby had seen in recent years with the possible exception of Buster.  The man rarely won on the prairies, but could thread his dogs through a needle if needed when they got to the tighter grounds of the South.  It was there he had garnered a number of impressive wins.

      Girl kept showing to the front, and the other handler was letting his dog reach out more.  At the 30 minute mark Girl went down into a draw and didn’t come out.  Bobby swung and he could see the Kentuckian speed up to get ahead.  It took a few minutes for Bobby and the judge to spot her but she was locked up in the draw with birds pinned in front of her.  Bobby shot at the flush and he and Mack gave her water before sending her to the front.  They loped along behind as they caught up with the other handler.  Just as they did the big white pointer stopped off to the left with his own find and Girl swung that way and backed from 75 yards as soon as she saw the other dog.

            By the time they had got to the dogs, flushed the birds and were back on course there were less than 15 minutes left in the hour.  The judges now had two dogs to work with if they could finish strong.  Girl was soon way to the front.  As the clock wound down she dropped into another draw and did not come out.  Her bracemate got there a minute later and he too was lost to sight.  Everyone rode down to where they had last seen the dogs and found them standing in the bottom of the draw.  Girl was in front with her bracemate almost beside her.  The birds lifted before either handler got to his dog and both fired.  Bobby was a little startled, but knew the judges would sort it out.  The brace ended with Girl once again well to the front of her bracemate.  Not only did she out-bird him, she clearly had the better race.  With the temperature rising and the overall lack of birds, Bobby knew she’d be tough to beat.

Preacher John The Road Goes On: Part V-B

Part V-B

      After the service, Lucinda joined them in the churchyard where Mack and Buster waited for them.  Lucinda went over to the dog that stood quietly as John introduced her.  The dog looked her in the eye and wagged his tail.  Lucinda reached down and rubbed between the dog’s ears.  Buster closed his eyes in obvious pleasure.

      “What a beautiful dog.  I’d love to see him run.”

      “Buster’s just a derby.  But he’s showing great promise.  John’s his handler.” Bobby said with the comfort that he always had when talking about dogs.  It was everything else that was outside his comfort zone.

      Lucinda looked at John and the old man smiled at her, “Buster’d be proud to show you what he’s made of.  You got your riding clothes with you?”

      She turned and looked at a white Mercedes SUV and nodded towards the vehicle, “They’re in the car.  I’ll follow you out and Bobby can ride with me to keep me company.”

      Bobby blushed again.  He wasn’t used to having an assertive woman around.  He’d had many girlfriends over the years and had even been married once for a few years but he couldn’t settle down, nor did he want to.  Lucinda hit the button on her keys and the Mercedes chirped, “I feel a little silly locking my car here, but it’s a necessary habit in Bismarck.”

      She headed for the car and Bobby followed like a dog in heel.  He got in the passenger side and Mack, John, and Buster hopped into the truck and led the way out of the parking lot.  Dr. Lucinda Ford made small talk as they drove along, telling Bobby whose ranches they were passing, where her school friends had lived, anecdotes of growing up in the country.  Bobby just nodded and added a few uh-uhs.  Lucinda was an attractive woman but looked rather imposing to a country boy like Bobby.  There was not a hair out of place, her make-up was subtle and understated, the dress she wore to church simple, but obviously well tailored to her trim body.

      At camp Lucinda pulled a bag, a pair of well worn cowboy boots, and a thoroughly battered straw hat out of the back of the Mercedes and followed Bobby into the house.  She paused as she stepped into the kitchen and looked around, “This is pretty much how I remember it from the day I sat at that table, drinking tea, and listening to Miss Etta Mae.”

      “I’ve replaced the stove and the refrigerator over the years, but other than that it’s the same as the first time I came north with Mr. John.”

      Bobby pointed to the bathroom, “I’ll go out and help with the horses.”

      Mack and John were already saddling up two horses.  Mack turned to Bobby as he finished with his horse, “Which horse you want for the doctor lady?”

      Bobby paused, “We’ll let her ride Charley.”

      Mack didn’t say a word but turned to John and raised an eyebrow.  Charley was the newest horse on their string.  Trey Sutton had bought him for Bobby after the first championship Rebel Yell had won with Trey as his owner.  Charley quickly became Bobby’s favorite horse.  He was smooth as silk in all his gaits and one of those unique horses that understands its job around dogs.  He was also a great horse to scout from.  Charley always knew where the dog was, and if you didn’t, you could just give him his head and he’d take you to the dog.  If that wasn’t enough of a tell, Bobby went in to the shed where the saddles were stored and brought out a saddle that he’d won a couple of years ago but had only used once.  The seat was a little small for him and it just didn’t feel right, and put it on Charley.  His regular saddle had been rebuilt and repaired so many times over the years that there was hardly anything left from the saddle John had given him on his first trip to the prairies.  It was his lucky saddle and he expected to be riding it through the gates of Hell or wherever he went in the next life.

      As Bobby tightened the cinch on Charley, he looked up and was smitten.  There stood the woman of his dreams — wearing worn snug jeans with the pointed toes of down in the heels cowboy boots sticking out below the frayed pant hems, with a big silver belt buckle that looked to have a girl rounding a barrel on a horse on it, and a t-shirt that proclaimed the wearer to be “Country Bred and Proud of It!”  This was topped by a battered straw cowboy hat that could only get that way from years of wear.  A blonde ponytail bounced below the hat brim as Lucinda walked across the dooryard to the three men and the horses. 

      John smiled at her, “Doctor, if you’d been dressed like this last night I would have recognized you immediately.”

      Lucinda smiled and laughed, and the world was a brighter place for it.  “I don’t get many days off, and the next one of you who reminds me of work by calling me doctor is going to be in trouble.  Most of my friends call me Luce or Lucy.  I’d like it if you three would as well.”

      Bobby handed the reins of Charley to Mack, “Help Doctor . . . er . . . Lucy, adjust the stirrups.”

      “That’s better.” She stepped close to Charley and rubbed his head.  The horse seemed to be just one more male who had fallen under Lucy’s power.  She stepped up into the saddle with the ease of someone who had spent a lifetime riding. 

      Mack and John went and got Rebel Yell (Jack), the best dog on Bobby’s string, and Buster from the kennel, put them in harnesses, and then got another pair of dogs for a first brace.  Bobby and Mack handled the dogs in the first brace while John roaded Jack and Buster and talked with Lucy.  As the two horses ate up the ground in their running walk Lucy told John how she used to get frustrated jogging along on her quarter horse when she had ridden with them all those summers ago.  She had barrel raced through her teens and still had a barrel racing horse, but she had bought a walking horse after she got out of medical school that she rode whenever she could get out of the office.  They talked about the dogs and the birds they pointed.  She asked about field trials and how the whole thing worked.  John explained the arrangement of owners and professional trainers to her and she became quiet and thoughtful.

      After about 45 minutes, they stopped and switched dogs.  Mack took over the roading duty and John handled Buster while Bobby turned Jack loose.  Although still a derby, Buster was fast becoming the second best dog in camp and Bobby felt that with a few breaks he would become Jack’s equal or more.  He was glad that John had been able to find the dog within Buster, because he and Buster just could not get on the same wavelength.  It was something that happened, and he was excited that John had come north with him and again found the joy of working great dogs.  He in no way felt that his debt was paid in full, but at least he’d finally made a few payments.

      Buster and Jack filled up the prairie as they made a swing through some of their best bird cover.  The two handlers lived in the moment, focused on their respective dogs, oblivious to Mack and Lucy riding behind them.  In the first half hour each dog had two finds with the other dog called in to back.  As they made the swing back towards the camp, Buster went wide to the left and stacked up by a small bluff that often held a brood of sharptails.  John squeezed his legs and his horse stepped up into an easy lope.  Mack and Lucy followed as Bobby tried to bring Jack around for another back.  Jack was soon on point in the opposite direction and Mack peeled off to help Bobby. 

      Just as John stepped down from his horse, Buster dove into the bluff with a low growl.  Birds blew out the other side, and Buster yelped in obvious pain.  John soon saw the problem as Buster jumped back with a face full of quills.  John had the collar of the dog and looked down at him, “For a smart dog, you sure do some dumb things.  I hope you learn your lesson from this.”

      People say dogs go one of two ways with porcupines; they either learn their lesson after one encounter or spend the rest of their lives trying to get even.  Some become such dedicated porkie hunters that they become useless as bird dogs.  John hoped Buster wouldn’t be one of the latter.

      Lucy was down off her horse, “What do we do?”

      John looked at her and smiled, “We pull them out.  Didn’t you learn that in medical school?”

      “No.  We had a dog when I was a kid that had so many quills in him that we had to take him to the vet.”

      John put a harness on Buster and tied him to the horse, then rummaged around in his saddlebags for a pair of needle nose pliers.  When he found them, he handed them to Lucy, “I’ll hold him, you pull.”

      “Just pull? Isn’t that going to hurt?”

      “They got to come out.”

      Lucy kneeled down next to the dog and went to work.  Buster stood stoically as Lucy worked with quick precision.  Soon Mack and Bobby were there and Bobby joined Lucy on the other side of Buster.  Even with two of them pulling quills it still took the better part of an hour to get them all.  Buster never flinched even when they pulled the ones inside his mouth.  Bobby finally stood up and then got a .22 pistol from his saddlebag that was there just for occasions like this, “That pig still in the bluff?”

      “I didn’t see him leave.”  John replied and then started to say something to Lucy.

      “You don’t have to say anything to me.  Remember I’m an only child and didn’t have any brothers to shoot the pests around the ranch.  Daddy taught me to shoot when I was little and then put me in charge of protecting the chickens.  Skunks, raccoons, weasels, fox, if they went after my chickens, I hunted them down and took care of them.  Do what you need to do and don’t worry about me being squeamish.  I cut people open for a living.”

      Bobby walked over to the bluff and shot the porcupine.  It probably put the total porcupines killed during the summer into double digits.  They were lucky that all the older dogs would point a porkie and not grab it.  This was only the third time this season that they had pulled quills from a dog. 

      “I’m sorry we had to interrupt your ride . . .”

      Lucy cut him off, “Don’t be silly, I haven’t thought about work since we left the church this morning.  I feel bad for Buster, but this has all been fun for me.  What do we do now?”

      Bobby didn’t know what to say, he just stared at this remarkable woman until John jolted him back to reality, “We turn Buster loose and run him back to camp.  And then I’d like some lunch.  Breakfast was a long time ago.”

      He took the harness off Buster and Mack held him while John got back in the saddle.  “I think I’ll keep Jack in the harness.”  He stepped up as did Lucy.  John blew his whistle and Buster tore off across the prairie as if he had just been turned loose from the kennel.  John sang to him as Buster worked his way from bluff to bluff.  John could hear Lucy talking behind him and every once in a while Bobby would get a few words of his own into the conversation.  Buster had two more finds before they got back to camp.  The four dogs were put in their kennels and John and Mack began the noisy task of feeding all the dogs. 

      Lucy and Bobby went into the house to make some lunch.  After a little while, Bobby came out and asked them to leave Charley and the horse he had been riding saddled as Lucy wanted to show him part of her family’s ranch that abutted their lease.  They soon came out with sandwiches and bottled water in a bag that Bobby hung from his saddle and rode out of the yard.

      The two older men watched them go.  Mack turned to John and said, “We’re supposed to be heading down the road in a couple of weeks.  Do you think this is going to change his plans?”

      John thought about it before he answered, “Someday maybe, but going down the road is a big part of the life he’s chosen.  You can’t just leave it.”

      “You did.”

      “Yeah, and look at me: a 75 year old widower who’s just thinking about Buster’s next trial.  The road goes on and we can’t help but follow it.”

Preacher John The Road Goes On: Part V-A

It was just over 2100 miles from the trial grounds in Canada to Trey Sutton’s farm in South Carolina.  Pulling the trailer with the two horses  really didn’t slow them down on the major highways as the dually ate up the miles and the diesel fuel.  The horses didn’t need to be let out, but they did need to be checked and watered on a regular basis and their hay nets refilled.  The crossing back into the U.S. was easy as there were other trialers ahead of them in line, and they had all their paperwork in order.  Trey and Bill Johnson thought about driving straight through but neither was on a tight schedule so they decided to spend a couple of nights on the road.

      During the long hours as they rolled down the road in the intimacy of the front seat of the truck from the border across North Dakota, through Minnesota and Wisconsin, into the traffic jam of Chicago, down to Indianapolis, Louisville and Knoxville, and finally over the Appalachians to the low country of South Carolina, Trey and Bill got to know each other’s stories.  Bill had made a small fortune developing high-end housing and commercial property in and around Atlanta, but the housing bust had just about put him out of business.  His personal exposure was fairly well protected, but his multiple layers of corporate protection had rapidly peeled away, causing him to lay off hundreds of people and default on a variety of loans and lines of credit.  He barely had enough people left to keep a couple of large house projects going. 

      As they got to know each other, Trey could see that Bill understood the housing market and he brought up the project that his brother-in-law wanted to develop.  There were many old farms and plantations that had been or were in the process of being developed as high-end retirement/second home communities.  Bill was familiar with that specific market and had been involved with one of the first ones in Georgia.  The buyers were mostly Northerners, many of whom had first moved to Florida and then wanted something a little more rural but with plenty of amenities.  Stables, riding trails, fishing ponds, a clubhouse with tennis courts, a gym, a pool, and a restaurant were all niceties that needed to be included.  Many featured high end shooting preserves with plenty of quail and bird dogs.  The developments where corners were cut to keep prices down didn’t seem to do as well as the places that offered more amenities and charged big association fees.  Bill explained that the beauty of this type of development was that it continued to generate substantial revenue even after it was built and sold out. 

      Trey made a number of calls to his brother-in-law as they traveled south getting details and answering Bill’s questions.  Trey’s biggest concern was the economy.  He was worried that this type of development might have lost its allure in light of the current economic situation.  Bill made the point that the real estate market has always been volatile.  The most important key to success was to be in position to catch the upward swings.  Even if they closed on the property tomorrow, which wasn’t going to happen, there would be three to five years of pre-development work before they could consider selling their first lot. By that time, even Trey was pretty confident that the economy would be in much better shape.  As they rolled into Trey’s farm a tentative plan had been struck where the three of them would meet and look over the property and come up with a possible development plan.  The fact that they would stress the sporting aspects of any property and could use it themselves for working dogs and raising quail in the interim was probably what sold Trey.  The fact that Bill was involved and had the expertise to temper his brother-in-law’s enthusiasm made it seem doable.

      In North Dakota, Bobby Pickett, Mack, and Preacher John fell back into the routine of working dogs on the prairies.  Although astronomically fall was still a few weeks away, the nights were getting colder and they rarely needed to stop working dogs in the middle of the day to escape the heat and avoid hurting the dogs.  The young broods of chickens and pheasants were also changing.  The birds on the lease had become more wary.  It became harder for the young dogs to work the birds – especially the pheasants.  They tried to stay in the parts of the lease where they were more likely to find sharptails but even those birds were more skittish.  It was as if they knew that in not too many days the dog trainers would be gone with their blank guns and the hunters would arrive with live ammo.  This was probably more credit than a creature with a real “bird brain” deserved, but Preacher John loved these birds and endowed them with more sense than they warranted.

      He still thought about Etta Mae and her death the previous March and the many years of his life he had devoted to and cared for her.  But the memory was changing.  The pain had subsided.  She had lived a long and full life and if he believed in her faith, she was in a better place watching over her family in Georgia and her husband as he followed dogs over the prairies they both had loved.

      The women of the church in town had wanted to do something in Etta Mae’s memory.  She had spent many summers among them and they thought of her as one of their own.   John had reluctantly agreed to attend a Saturday supper in the church basement where there would be a chance to share memories and honor Etta Mae.  He said he would be there.  He figured Bobby and Mack would use the time to do the week’s shopping and maybe spend some time in their favorite bar, really the only bar in town where often five or six dog trainers could be found on a Saturday night.  But no, they had both said they would come with John.

      They quit early that Saturday so they could get cleaned up.  They were surprised by the number of cars in the churchyard – more than were usually there on a Sunday when John regularly attended services.  It was an old fashioned church supper – casseroles, potato salad, coleslaw, Jello molds of various shapes and colors, a red punch spiked with nothing stronger than ginger ale, and a table loaded with everyone’s special desert.  After all had eaten their fill and then some, the young minister moved to the front of the room, “I didn’t have the privilege of knowing Etta Mae Smith but I’ve spoken to many of you who did, and one thing has stood out in every conversation I’ve had – and that is that Etta Mae was a true Christian lady in every sense of the word.”

      He went on to define his terms to knowing nods from many of the older parishioners.  Throughout the minister’s short talk, John kept watching a young woman, maybe in her late 30s or early 40s, it was hard to tell, who kept looking at him.  She seemed vaguely familiar but would have been just a child if he knew her from before.  When the minister finished his speech he turned to her and said, “We thought long and hard and said many prayers trying to decide how we would honor Etta Mae’s memory.  And then Lucinda was home for a weekend and made the suggestion that we all agreed upon.  I’ve asked her to tell us about it tonight.  Lucinda.”

      The woman John had been watching smiled at him and then stood up.  “You all know me, but I don’t think Mr. Smith probably remembers me.” And then he did.  She was the daughter of the rancher next door to the lease who had come over to play with John Jr. and the other kids.  She had often ridden her horse over and would come with them when they were working dogs.  “The summer I was 12, I hung around with his kids and loved to watch the dogs run the prairies.  I still do.  I was 12 and thought my parents didn’t know anything.  I am an only child and I think my dad expected me to stay and marry some nice boy that would run his ranch.  I told Miss Etta Mae about it and said I didn’t want to stay here in Hicksville.  She sat me down in the kitchen and poured me a glass of sweet tea.  She told me I was a smart girl and I could make of my life what I wanted to.  She told me that running a ranch was hard and noble work.  But it wasn’t for everyone.  I told her I wanted to be a veterinarian and care for horses and dogs.  She encouraged me.  And then she never came to prairies again.  When I was in high school I heard she had a stroke and decided that day that I didn’t want to be a vet anymore.  I wanted to be a doctor.  I didn’t know how hard that was going to be and there were many times when I wanted to quit.  Every time, I thought of Etta Mae, and kept going.  She was right, as you all know I’m a vascular specialist and work with stroke victims almost every day.  So, when I heard that the church was planning to do something in Etta Mae’s memory, I wanted to be a part of it.  My partners in Bismarck and I have made a donation to the church to be used to create the Etta Mae Smith Scholarship fund to help young people from the community attend college.”

      By the end of the story there wasn’t a dry eye in the house.  The minister had moved over beside John and motioned for him to stand and follow him to the front of the room where Dr. Lucinda Ford handed him a check to give to the church for a very substantial amount of money.  John wiped his eyes and gave Lucinda a hug, “I do remember you. And I know Etta Mae would be proud of what you’ve accomplished.  Thank you . . .”

      The minister handed him another check.  “We could not match the amount that Lucinda and her partners gave but the members of the church have all contributed in your wife’s memory.”

      “Thank you.  Thank you all.”

      Everyone in the room wanted to shake John’s hand or give him a hug.  Many shared memories they had of Etta Mae so many years ago.  By the end, John was emotionally drained and once again overcome by the sense of loss he felt about his wife.  At the same time, he felt a release.  The thought that Etta Mae had been held in the hearts of all these people so far away from her Georgia home made him proud that he had been her husband.  He had no regrets, but, at the same time, he was happy, yes he had to admit, happy to be once again riding the prairies following bold running dogs.

      At the end of the evening, John introduced Lucinda to Bobby and Mack.  To John’s surprise Bobby invited the woman out to the lease to ride any time she wanted.  Lucinda looked him up and down as she thought about it.  John was pretty sure that Bobby was starting to blush under the deep tan of his face acquired during a lifetime spent outdoors.  Lucinda came to a decision, “How about tomorrow after church?”

      Bobby practically stuttered, “I don’t usually go to . . . I do the shopping Sundays . . .” Lucinda just stood and waited.  John and Mack tried to hide their amusement at Bobby’s discomfort. He paused and then gave in, “After church. We’d be happy to have you join us.”

      Bobby didn’t mention that the last time he had been to Sunday service he had been around 12.  Nor did he mention that they didn’t run dogs on Sundays when they were at camp.  It was a day to take care of all the chores that never got done during the week when they were up before sunrise and often watched the sunset from the back of a horse as they rode in with the last brace of the day. 

      “Great. I’ll bring a change of clothes and just follow you out after the service.”

      Sunday morning Mack and Buster dropped John and Bobby at church and headed for Walmart with Bobby’s list for the week’s groceries.  Lucinda was at the front of the church with her parents and saw John and Bobby as they slipped into a pew near the back.  It was a typical service – the choir sang – the minister preached – the deacon read – everyone stood and sang – it ended.  No lightning bolts from heaven smote Bobby and he sighed in relief when it was over.  If truly pressed, he would probably admit to believing in a higher power.  There seemed to be just too many wonders in the world for random chance to be responsible.  But he was a loner, really living on the periphery of modern society – on the road more than not.  His life had the illusion of freedom that many seemed to envy.  To Bobby, it was just what he did.