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“That’s just an excuse for our lackluster performance,” Sugat; interrupted. “We didn’t do particularly well and it wasn’t because of the cold. I'm still ashamed—Master spent days sewing little leather boots for us so we wouldn’t get sand burrs in our feet.”
The only thing is, the dumb things wouldn’t stay on. And you should have seen yourself trying to walk in them—you looked like you were stepping on eggs,” Rapp chortled i pointing his pay at Sugar. “Those burrs were rotten—we needed more than leather boots to keep them off. I even got one stuck up my nose. How embarassing! Master had'to get it out for me." :.
“When I tried to pull them off my feet, they’d get stuck in my lip—it was awful. And then there was the cactus. Boots didn’t protect us from that either,” said Sugar, agreeing but with reluctance.
“It’s not an excuse but you should have seen the territory. Miles and miles of flat sand barely covered with this puny grass and not a tree in sight. It sure was rough on this old boy,” said Rapp, shivering at the memory. “No self-respecting quail would have been caught dead on those sandhills. There were a few marsh areas—there’s all this water just under the sand's surface—and ducks by the thousands but we’re setters, not retrievers so big deal.” “It was huge out there. They measure land in sections, not acres, with 160 acres in just a quarter section," added Sugar. “We're used to running through a hay field to the fence line where the birds hide for cover. In Nebraska, it takes an old dog the whole day to reach a fence where you
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