In the spring, about the time the wild coveys were breaking up into mating pairs, Billy would drive the Blackwater’s logging roads at first light and listen for cock birds. Once he heard one, he would stop, get out of his truck cab, walk around to bed, retrieve a couple of hen quail from the cage he kept there, and let them go into the undergrowth. His rationale was that the wild bobwhite eventually would call the hens to him, or they would call him to them, and the start of a new covey would commence. The cock would look after the hens, show them where to eat and how to keep away from hawks and foxes. Otherwise, they would just be a couple of pen-raised hens that wouldn’t know how to survive.