The willows on Willow Creek were in blazing fall colors: gold, yellow and amber. They brightened a day that started warm and got warmer, with just one covey of valley quail to interrupt the reverie. The dogs needed a hunt as badly as I did, and each was ecstatic when let out of the box to roam the sage-studded draws.
The covey flushed in dribs and drabs, so soon into the hunt that my shooting glasses were still in my pocket and shells too. One point, another, then another from Manny as birds snuck from the far side of a thicket, not that it mattered, with me unloaded and all.
But like golf (a good walk spoiled, some say), maybe this hunt was meant as a mind-cleansing exercise as much as a meat-gathering excursion.
And we came across this … which I can’t figure out at all. Anyone know what it might be?