QUAIL SHOOTING IN KENTUCKY. 



A. S. ATKINSON. 



My father, W. B. Atkinson, owns 2 

 pointer puppies, BiltO' and Lottie, and I own 

 one, named Point, born January 5th, 1902. 

 I bought my puppy when she was 8 months 

 old. She had been in the field once, when 

 about 7 months old, making 3 points, one 

 on a covey and 2 singles. The next time 

 she was in the field, several weeks before 

 the season opened, she made a dozen points, 

 which she handled with wonderful natural 

 dog wisdom. That time I had my gun 

 for the purpose of letting her hear the noise 

 it made and otherwise getting acquainted 

 with it. When she found the first covey 

 that day, I took the shells out of my gun 

 to make sure I would not shoot. Point 

 held steady, something few puppies ever 

 do, and did not break to wing 1 . I fol- 

 lowed her in many hunts like that before 

 our season opened. She worked well on 

 larks and I taught her to retrieve with 

 them. 



On our first hunt my father and I had 

 been in the field about 15 minutes when 

 father flushed a covey of quails, the dogs 

 not being near. We followed them ; but 

 before we found them again Point made 

 one of those grand old sure looking points, 

 father's dogs backing nicely. I walked in 

 on them and downed one bird, father not 

 being in the rise. 



We went after the birds. Point made 

 a fine point on what I supposed a single ; 

 but instead out came 2. I made a good 

 double, Point retrieving both singly. Lot- 

 tie at the same time pointed for father, he 

 bagging his bird. 



Point went about 50 yards and again 

 pointed. Father came up thinking, "now 

 if the boy misses, I'll get the bird ;" but 

 my aim was good and Point brought the 

 game in proudly. 



We went into another field and all dogs 

 found another large covey. I killed one 

 quail. Point went to where it fell and 

 pointed, but broke and began to trail; 

 pointed again, broke and began to. trail 

 again. I tried to call her off, but she 

 seemed to know what she was doing. I 



went back to where the bird fell but could 

 not find it. I looked around and saw 

 Point coming, about 200 yards away, with 

 my winged bird in her mouth, still alive. 

 I need not say I was proud of my dog. 



We hunted our day out, and bagged 13 

 birds. It so' happened that 8 of them 

 were in my coat and 5 in father's. That 

 was not many, but we had as much sport 

 as he who kills more. We found in all 

 about 8 coveys ; but most of them were 

 in bad places for shooting. Some we did 

 not get a shot at. 



Birds are numerous in Warren county; 

 but where we find them they have a good 

 chance to get away. Every lover of dogs 

 thinks he has an exception in the dog line. 

 I have followed many puppies in the field; 

 but Point is a wonder. She pointed near- 

 ly 200 quails last season. At first she was 

 not particular what she pointed. A field 

 mouse, lark, rabbit, ground sparrow, mole, 

 cat, chicken or terrapin, being good enough 

 for her; but she soon learned that birds 

 were the things I sought. 



One evening I was out with a friend. I 

 had killed a bird. He and I were trying 

 to teach his setter pup to retrieve. When 

 we were ready to go, I could not see my 

 dog. Almost at the same time I saw 3 

 birds come to the top of the corn and 

 make for the river, which was near. I 

 called loudly, "Steady, Point," not yet 

 seeing her. We walked down to the corn 

 and about 25 feet in the corn she was 

 stretched at full length on the remaining 

 covey of about 18 birds. I have never seen 

 any other dog hold a point after some of 

 a covey had risen. 



The last day of our season, Point found 

 a covey of 20 birds. She held them until 

 I flushed. They went into the thicket 

 We followed. She made a single point 

 and I flushed the bird. She went about 

 20 feet and pointed again. I came up. 

 Imagine my surprise to find she had 

 pointed a sow and 5 pigs, they being be- 

 hind a log where she could not see them. 

 When the old sow grunted, Point jumped 

 as if she had been shot. 



Tourist — When does the next train start 

 for Cork, porter? 



Irish Porter — She's just gone, sorr. — Ex- 

 change. 



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