[wterrell]

Roadkill,
Best to you.
As a kid in the South, every Thanksgiving was a day of quail hunting over wide ranging pointers. At dawn, my father, brothers, and myself would let the dogs loose and spend the morning brushing the frost from the weeds in the haunts where the bevies would hide. At midday we would make our way back to the truck and have spam and crackers for our Thanksgiving meal. Then we would continue hunting until dusk.
This almost broke me from quail hunting, all-together. And instilled into me the sense of duty to always providing a traditional Thanksgiving meal for my children - sans quail hunting.
Happy Holidays!