Joann Merritt's Essays

We Had A Quail Of A Good Time

As we were driving south from George Anderson’s place, Frances and I watched a covey of Scaled Quail whir-r-r-r across the fence and into a pasture. Farther down the road another covey which included half-grown young continued feeding peacefully.

In between these two coveys was a pair of adult quail with seven or eight small chicks. The chicks had very recently lost their fuzzy appearance and the pattern of their wing feathers was becoming visible. Their buffy colored heads shone golden in the sunlight. We stopped so they could all leave the area without scattering thereby leaving themselves open to predators.

Instead of following the first covey into the mesquite brush land they cautiously made their way into a plowed field. The grayish-brown color of the soil with its clods of dirt provided the perfect camouflage. The parents selected a furrow and gathered their babies around them, safely tucking them under their wings. Thus protected and concealed they remained motionless while waiting for the inadvertent intruders to leave. We obliged them by quietly leaving the area.

We drove slowly down the road enjoying the unity of the Quail family and our own unity as friends and birdwatchers.