the quail

I’ve been avoiding this subject for some time now.  As of now, the empty cage sits in my backyard as a sad reminder of what several months ago brought a flurry of excitement into our home. 

The incubator stage was fun, the fragile babies a miracle of GOD it seemed, and the energetic little chicks were so entertaining I would lose hours of my day just laughing at their little quail antics.  I shared my office with them until they got too noisy and a bit to stinky for my liking.  It was time to move them out of their cozy little Rubbermaid tote to the big cage in the sunroom.  The sunroom is a glorified screen porch.  I was certain they would enjoy the fresh air, sunshine, and I would enjoy having a peaceful office once more. 

They thrived, eating everything in sight and drinking ridiculous amounts of water.  I learned what happens when you startle quail and chased more than one panicky helicopter around the sunroom.  I learned about sexing them and had determined who would eventually be culled.  I made an effort to pick up and kiss at least five of them per day.  They had the most curious little personalities and I spent a great deal of time educating anyone who was willing to come out and watch my quail demo.  Each day I would refill their water and food and pull handfuls of weeds with clods of dirt still intact.  It was funny to watch them with long grass.  It became evident why they are often referred to as prairie chickens.  They loved to hide in the tallest blades crouching down and scratching through the dirt hoping to find grubs or ants or anything tasty.  They would hop up as high as they could or stand on their tippy toes (tippy talons) to pull seeds down off the top of the weeds.  I fell even more in love. 

As the pregnancy hormones started to rage so did my nausea.  I have had this issue with each pregnancy often throwing up multiple times per day.  Needless to say there are certain triggers that can set one off.  It became impossible to get through feeding and daily cage cleaning without stopping to throw up several times.  Quail are lovely in many aspects, but the smell of quail manure is not something that quail enthusiasts advertise as one of their best qualities.  It stinks and lingers in one’s nasal passages.  Their last day in the sunroom I vomited on my feet.  I was wearing flip flops.  It was moving day. 

I am creative by nature so spurred by the recent vomit covered flip flops I started brainstorming furiously.  They needed to move outdoors so they didn’t smell as much, I needed to stop dealing with their manure each day.  The answer was simple.  I would place their cage in the backyard and take the aluminum manure catching tray out.  This would allow the manure to drop through the bottom of the cage onto the grass.  I determined that if I forced one of the big boys to come back with me each day we could each pick up one end of the cage and move it one cage length down the backyard.  It would be a modified quail tractor.  I praised myself for being  such an efficient problem solver. 
This system worked well for several weeks.  The quail seemed happy.  Actually I think quail always seem happy, but they were thriving and I was no longer vomiting, as much, while dealing with them.  Life was good. 

One afternoon, a few weeks into my genius backyard quail setup, two little boys flew through the back door with tears streaming down their faces.  Through sobs and snot they pulled on my apron begging me to come out to the back yard and see what the flies had done to the quailies.  The flies?  “They killed the quailies, they killed the quailies,” was all they kept repeating.  I threw on my flip flops and rushed to the scene of the crime.  I had not properly prepared for this.  What I found was horrifying.  The quail were all dead, at least I hoped to GOD they were.  It was a massacre.  Something had come in and literally pulled each quail, by whatever body part they could snag, through the wire mesh of the cage.  Feathers were everywhere.  Worse yet, body parts were everywhere.  Most of the little quail bodies were still in the cage, but their heads, wings, legs and feet were scattered throughout the backyard. 

We said a quick prayer and I sent the little boys into the house with strict warnings not to come back here again.  I took a deep breath and predictably vomited.  It broke my heart to imagine the suffering that these little quail went through.  I cried because they were my babies, I knew that some of them would die, but their lives would be honored and their meat used to feed our family.  I cried because this was not the way it was supposed to end.  I cried because this was supposed to be an amazing adventure in micro farming for the boys, not some horrific traumatizing life event that would haunt them in their sleep.  I cried thinking of their last moments being attacked by their ruthless predator.  But I also cried because I had thrown up on my flip flops… again.

So, sadly there you have it.  This is why I’ve been vague.  If I think about it too much I still throw up.  I will most definitely get more quail however, I need to finish incubating this little baby before starting another flock.