I dug this out at Mr Oxner's request, whom I know has read this thing before....So, bear with me one more time, Bill:

A South Texas Quail Hunt

It was February in deep South Texas. On what started as a cool, somewhat drizzly morning, I was walking behind two pointers covering the ground ahead of a truckload of relief dogs and clients. We were hunting the brush lines along senderos which crisscross a large pasture located maybe 20 miles north of what is known as the Lower Rio Grande Valley, and we were finding birds.

PeeWee, a White/Liver altered male pointer, in particular was having a big morning. He was finding coveys on a regular basis, and seemed to be pacing himself well as he worked back and forth. His ole scorpion-like tail would snap back into what could be construed as a passable pointer's tail, and the tip would begin to quiver just like that of a rattlesnake as he would slam on the brakes and lock up. After the covey rise, if we worked the singles, all that pacing went out the window. PeeWee kicked in the afterburner as he zigzagged back and forth hunting up the singles. He knew they were there, and he was finding them. Even the clients were egging him on... "Get 'em PeeWee! Get 'em boy!" All seemed right with the world.

While utilizing a labrador to find a crippled bird, I lost contact with PeeWee. I unsheathed my trusty Tracker, and began searching for a signal...I picked up a strong return which seemed to be coming from the direction of a small mesquite mott. Sure enough, I could make out PeeWee hard against a large clump of tall grass and weeds at the edge of the mott. He was locked up tight, eyes bulging, tail quivering. PeeWee’s nose was just touching the grass. I raised my orange hunting cap, signaling the truck that we had a point. As the hunters eased forward, I positioned them to the left and right of the mott. I cautioned them to be ready. I would walk straight in and flush the birds.

I carefully approached the grass, and just began to move my foot to kick the clump... a huge, toothy maw emitting a particularly unnerving guttural hiss burst into existence where only the targeted grass had stood a millisecond before. PeeWee yelped, I yelled (some witnesses alleged that I screamed like a woman...but that's just not so!) and the three of us, man, dog, and hog all scrambled to move out of harm’s way in three different directions. I was convinced ole Pee had donated his nose to the hog, until I caught up with him and checked him for cuts. It seemed that only our collective prides had suffered....At that point, my greatest concern was that the hunters would injure themselves as they held their sides and slapped their knees, while hooting at our brand of brush country comedy.

It was a great day. It was an incredible morning.

GDA

I so glad he talked you into reposting it.

I had not read that; great story and thanks for posting. On another note about deep south Texas; we have had a ton of rain and I have seen bobwhites in great numbers! Can't wait for opening day!