12/24/2023
‘Twas the night before Christmas, in the bird dog's dream,
Not a creature was stirring, not even a grouse.
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that quail and pheasants soon would be there.
The pointers were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of coveys danced in their heads.
And mamma with her shotgun, and I with my OnX map,
Had just settled in for a long winter's nap.
When out in the field, there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window, I flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters, threw up the sash.
The moon on the fields with a soft amber glow,
Gave the luster of midday to objects below.
When what to my keen hunting eyes did appear,
But a miniature sleigh, and eight bird dogs in cheer.
With a seasoned old hunter, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment, it must be St. Nick.
More rapid than pheasants, his pointers they came,
And he whistled and shouted and called them by name.
"Now, Nova! now, Fly and Hopper! now, Charlie and Huck!
On, Lettie! on, Mayzie! on, Waukee and Remnar! on Abel and Arie!
To the top of the ridge! to the top of the wall!
Now point away! point away! point away all!"
Like quail in the thicket that rise with a flutter,
Up to the treetops, the bird dogs they'd utter.
So up to the rooftop, the pointers they flew,
With a sleigh full of shotgun shells, and St. Nicholas too.
And then in a twinkling, I heard on the roof,
The prancing and pawing of each eager hoof.
As I drew in my head and was turning around,
Down the chimney, St. Nicholas came with a bound.
He was dressed all in blaze orange, from his head to his boot,
And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot.
A bundle of game birds he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a hunter just opening his pack.
His eyes, how they sparkled! his dimples, how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the beard on his chin was as white as the snow.
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his stash,
Filled all the gun cases, then turned with a dash.
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
With a nod and a wink, up the chimney he rose!
He sprang to his sleigh, to his pointers gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
But I heard him exclaim, as he drove out of sight,
"Happy hunting to all, and to all a good flight!"
Photo compliments Vanessa Carmean