We stop at places named Mouse Farm, Timber Slash, and Kenny's Edge. The dogs find at least one covey at each. We eat lunch on the road, sloshing hot coffee onto our laps at each turn. The bird guys believe in hoarding daylight on general principle. Besides, we've got a pretty hot little streak going here. We're currently five-for-five, a personal best for Tom and Tim. At the next spot, a half mile of power line between two disked fields, Tom presses his gun on me, saying he's happy to work the dogs and that he'll take it back for the next field.