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Here's my second Happy Birthday photo of my dad, taken by my mom during a quail hunting trip in Baja California in, I think, 1968. The wonderful dog leaning on him is Cefra, a Hungarian Vizsla. She was the smartest and most willing of the many dogs he had during his long life, and he just adored her. For those who might blanch at our old getaway pastime of hunting quail, my dad had a ready comeback: he'd explain that, unlike other forms of hunting, quail hunting in Baja meant a day of toiling up rocky hillsides through the cactus and eventually reaching the top, only to see the covey of quail flushing over the next ridge. But all through my childhood we had some swell picnics in what was then the unspoiled ranch country south of Ensenada.
That is a noble pooch.
Happy Birthday to your dad and thanks for the pictures. It's hard for a city boy like myself to understand the lifestyle of a logger in 1912 Oregon or a quail hunter, but I find myself enjoying these very much.
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