A venison feast from the far east
Remy went downwind of where the crippled rooster had flopped into the tall stems of prairie grass and immediately turned and pointed.
"Fetch," I commanded, releasing the German wirehair from his statue-like stillness.
Like a proverbial ostrich on sand, the dog's head disappeared into the thick tangle of grass and snow, and after a short while, returned with the bird.
It was stone dead.
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