We didn’t do a lot of quail hunting in the early years in Virginia. However, I do remember that the first time I fired my JC Higgins shotgun, was at a covey of quail. My grandfather and I had walked up on them and he was disappointed that I killed only two but I was elated by my first shot. When we moved to Georgia in the late 1950’s there were no deer in the Piedmont Region. Senator Herman Talmadge had reportedly released some in the Henry County area, but they were not being hunted. We were not on a flyway, so there was not much duck hunting, and there were no turkeys. That left three things to satisfy ones hunting addictions: rabbits, squirrels and quail. Dad purchased two English Setters; their names were Nell and Belle.
Stormy was one of Belle’s puppies. They were born during a thunder storm, thus the name.
Stormy was a beautifully built setter. He was all white and totally deaf. Once he was laying in the yard while we were cutting firewood. When the chain saw started, he jumped up and ran off barking, not knowing why. He was a natural bird dog. When he was three months old, Dad had him out on a hunt around the house. On the way back, Stormy pointed. Dad thought he was after a grasshopper. When he got even with Stormy he told him to come on (don’t know why, Stormy’s deaf). About that time a covey flushed. Dad had his hands in his pockets keeping them warm and didn’t get off a shot.
At six months, we took Stormy, Nell and another excellent pointer, belonging to a friend of Dad’s and went on a hunt. Coming around the edge of a cornfield, Stormy pointed. He looked like a picture, tail straight back, head close to the ground and front leg cocked. The experienced dogs backed him, but then began to doubt and moved in. They circled Stormy and moved on. Stormy never moved. Dad and his friend walked off to our right with their backs to us. I moved in on Stormy and kicked the grass-nothing. On the second kick, a single came out from under Stormy’s head, so close it flipped his ear up as it left. I shot it, Stormy retrieved it. The shot startled Dad and his friend. Just as I was taking the bird from Stormy, I told them if they were going to hunt with me, they needed to get some better dogs.
Stormy learned to work with hand signals and stayed in sight as much as possible. He was elegantly clumsy. Once I saw him trip over a log and he didn’t get up. All I could see was his tail. I thought he had broken his neck. When I got to him, he was laying on his side pointing a single. Stormy was fun to hunt with and he left me with many great memories of working with a skilled quail dog.
