Oriole vs. woodcock (continued)
In a line of four, perhaps 40 feet apart, Brooks, Basil, Bud and yours truly moved slowly into the low-lying cover. The sun was coming low through the trees and the ground was moist and pliant underfoot. The dogs worked beautifully, staying always within sight as they moved, tails working, noses drawing in the scents swirling over the misted leaves and mud, selecting and discarding until "Bird! Maybe two!" Basil Smith's call seemed to coincide with the abrupt halt of both dogs.
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