Man, have you ever been Bob Whitin
With a Setter dog and gun?
When the air is clear and bitin
With a tang like mellow rum.
Frost a-sparklin on the corn shocks,
Dead grass scrunchin under foot,
Hikin down across the wood lot
Rigged for shootin, cap to boots.
Hit the bottoms where the Bobs are
Hidin in the grass and briars.
Cussin ’bout the ruined cover
Where some hoodlums started fires.
Little Setter goin steady,
Quarters covers all the ground,
Plume a-wavin, flanks a-quiver
Knows old Bob Whites been ’round.
Crouchin low, head up a-sniffin
Scent so hot it fairly burns.
You behind her, coaxin, pleadin,
Watchin every move and turn.
Creepin forward, always creepin,
Getting closer foot by foot.
Proud to own that little Setter,
She’s a honey, bet your boots.
Yep she’s got ’em there she freezes,
Standin like she’s turned to stone.
Foot up, Lawdy, what a picture.
Dang it, left my camera home.
Goin in, it’s time to flush ’em
Little Setter holding fine.
These are moments sportsmen pray for.
Tinglin thrills like heady wine.
There they go, the little rascals,
Wings a-whistlin through the trees.
Know the’re there. But they scare you,
Getting out around your knees.
Suppose you missed ’em, what’s the difference.
You ain’t just huntin for the meat.
Like to maybe bag a couple,
Setter brings them in so neat.
Man, there ain’t no sport like huntin Bob Whites
With a Setter dog and gun.
Spect I’m goin to hate to leave ’em
When my stay on earth is done
Who knows, mebbe up in heaven,
If I get there I will find
Little Setter waitin, pointing,
To the Bob Whites in the blind.
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