Abbey, tuckered out after a three-rooster Saturday and a three-rooster Sunday in heavy cover. She gets all the credit: found the birds, worked them stop-and-go, tracked them through thick, six-foot-tall native grass, pointed then, relocated and pointed again, did not bump a single one, flushed them on my “go easy” command,  marked them down, retrieved them. All I did was shoot. It’s probably been 15 years since my last six-bird opening weekend. A great bird dog is a joy that surpasses all the other rewards of hunting.