Molly wagged her tail at the sight of men and guns that meant doing the work she loved, and Leon bent to rub her head. Brutus lifted a leg to the base of the fig tree, and his urine steamed in the cold air.

“We ready then?” Floyd said, reaching into his shirt for a biscuit which he handed the boy.

“Yes, sir!” Joe-Tom was more interested in hunting than food at the moment, but he ate half of the biscuit and tore the other half into two parts to throw to Molly and Brutus, who caught and swallowed them automatically and then trotted ahead through the back yard, past the clothes-washing area with its tables and tubs and black pots and the stump for pounding dirt out of clothes after they had soaked. They always set off in the same direction, however they varied their route as they went along. The first light of day showed as they crossed the fields covered with heavy frost. The earth was frozen and crunched under their feet. Circling ahead, the dogs were followed by Joe-Tom, who let them lead him; and he was followed by Leon and Floyd, who let the boy and dogs lead them.

In an hour and a half they took a dozen squirrels, enough to make a big stew for noon dinner, and broth to flavor a gruel for Felix, if he were able to eat it. Felix had suffered a light stroke of paralysis on Christmas Day, and although he had appeared to be rallying, yesterday he’d taken a turn for the worse.

But that was forgotten now as men and boy and dogs sat in a clearing in the woods, dogs on the ground, the men side by side on a log, the boy astride a low stump. They shared the remainder of the biscuits, and the dogs trotted into the brush, their hunting fever undiminished.

Joe-Tom was humming to himself when Floyd turned to him and said solemnly, “Joe-Tom, what’s this I hear about you can gobble like a wild turkey?”

The boy smirked. This was the way hunts always ended. They waited, and presently he did indeed gobble like a turkey in such an accurate manner that the dogs came running to investigate.

The men laughed, and the dogs sat again, looking puzzled.

With a straight face Floyd said, “Joe-Tom, can you give us some bird calls?”

Joe-Tom obliged, sometimes working with his fingers, more often only with lips and teeth and tongue. The dogs stood wagging their tails, on to the joke now, barking pleasure and protest.

When Joe-Tom finished his repertory, they all laughed again. Leon slapped his thighs and stood and stretched. “Let’s go home and get some breakfast!”