GETTING ON GAME 23 
game birds. We were always in the fields by 
six o’clock and those cool, clear mornings 
fairly snapped with vigor and made you just 
tingle with life. All of my days I shall look 
back with ever present pleasure to those 
mornings during the breaking of little Byrd. 
Big and red and bright the sun would crawl 
up over the sky line of the East and with 
great deep breaths I would “step on her” in 
the Ford Sedan, responding to the urge to 
go—the delight of being up and at ’em. I 
just couldn’t hold myself back and it seemed 
as if the motor itself must feel likewise. The 
dogs were ever aquiver with eager excite¬ 
ment to be out. 
I could see that Byrd was enjoying these 
trips—but, let it be said, she was no nearer 
than ever, so far as I could see, to any actual 
appreciation of what it was all about. Un¬ 
dismayed, just the same, I kept right on, and 
one would almost have been amused at my 
diligence and sincerity in the face of no ap¬ 
parent result. I held an almost sublime faith 
that some day Byrd would discover what her 
nose was for. In the meantime I went right 
along putting her into birds and talking to 
