I'm so looking forward to going on the 2-day camping ride this weekend with the horsemen's association, that last night I dreamed that Lyle Lovette showed up just so he could sing Ricky Nelson's part:
I would have that song be the official anthem for the horsemen's association, if'n it was up to me.
On an unrelated note, I lamented a couple months ago, round about the end of quail season, over the dearth of birds in these parts. Maggie and I hunted and hunted some more, but no points. Yesterday, on the way to the mailbox, in the spot pictured below, we bumped up five (5, dammit!) woodcock right there. They had apparently gorged themselves on earthworms levitated by the recent rains, and could hardly fly. Two of them kept circling back, and I let Maggie work the area for scent, until I got worried that maybe there were chicks afoot. I never found any, but there was lots of sign.
I took the camera on the walk to the mailbox today, and was sure they'd be gone. I was right, but they had apparently roosted there again last night, leaving enough scent to entice this hard point you see. While photographing the point, I could hear Bobwhites calling from three different directions. As Kurt Vonnegut would say, if he knew anything about bird-hunting, "...so it goes."