Surely, the many pairs of bird’s eyes found us first as we moved across the pasture. My own set found them second, white bellies out in a few inches of grass. The dog’s nose found them last, all of us frozen for a mere instant before the covey got up, ten to fifteen birds chuckling as they headed west. I chortled and smiled, and the dog yipped a bit, everyone was having a fine time.

By the fourth time, only the birds were still chuckling.

By the sixth, even they got weary of the routine and left.

So we took our cue and did as well.

And in the rearview, the sun set on another sharptail season as we drove home.