Life in the country has many rewards in exchange for the advantages of city living. A few of these rewards are the first blossoms appearing on the nightshade plants here on my property, and the annual event of momma and poppa quail bringing their newly hatched babies to the water I supply them. To watch these tiny creatures with their proud momma and poppa teaching them the quail trade is a real delight, and I never cease to enjoy watching them go about the yard like diminutive chickens.

Here in the Sequoia National Forest we have the California quail- distinguished by their muted but still beautiful colors, the cute topknots and marvelous, varied sounds they make. Being precocial, the babies are hatched covered with down and can very nearly fly from the time they come out of their shells.

Having no need of hunting for the family pot any longer, I simply enjoy watching the quail and beautiful gray tree squirrels hereabouts, notwithstanding my having once supplied the quail for a Thanksgiving Dinner baked with dressing in our wood stove one year and I used to make a very creditable squirrel stew with dumplings (a former life). Now there are few things that gladden my heart more than to simply watch and listen to the various critters the forest supplies. Granted, I would enjoy it far more were it not for Nature red in tooth and claw that shows no mercy for baby quail and baby ducks for example.

But I don’t like zoos. In my opinion, wild animals should not be caged. A pen pal recently wrote me about her desire for a raccoon when she was a young girl. Her doting father acquired one for her, and in no time at all the whole family discovered how quickly a raccoon could rearrange the furniture in a house. In regard to these cute masked bandits, I tried a fish pond once here at my place, stocking it with a dozen large goldfish. The very next morning every single fish was gone and the tracks of raccoons gave away the “fishing experts.”

I love watching the critters hereabouts, but having lived in a wild forest environment those years ago on the mining claim here in the Kern River Valley I suffered no illusions about having a bobcat as a “pet” for example. Much as the big pussycat was fascinating to watch in the wild, it never crossed my mind it would accommodate itself to a bowl of milk and “Here kitty, kitty” in our cabin.

Not altogether abandoning the desire for “exotics” I did have my share of experiences with critters like the skunk that went off in our cabin one night, the porcupine I lassoed and observed for a short time close up, a baby great horned owl I raised, but people that want a lion or tiger for a “pet” have just got to have rocks in their head.

    But when it comes to catching critters none can best my daughter Karen catching the Colorado Cottontail barehanded when she was a little girl. Never could figure out how she did that. But one time I came close with a baby California quail.

From the window here where I write I saw the quail enter the yard, momma and poppa with their brood of chicks, when out of nowhere came the resident cat scattering the quail. Quickly on my feet and going outside to intervene I caught sight of the cat chasing what looked like one of the tiny mice I see occasionally. Not so, it was one of the baby quail that had become separated from the rest.

The chase was on around the pressure tank for my well. When I reached the spot I saw the baby hunkered down under the large water line going into the tank.

No one is going to catch a baby quail by chasing it. But under certain circumstances some critters will allow a very slow approach. The little thing didn’t stir as I very slowly lowered my hand over it; when close enough I made a quick grab capturing it.

This presented a problem. While the tiny chick quickly settled down within the warmth and darkness of my hand gently closed around it; what does anyone do with a baby quail in hand, particularly with a cat in residence believing it has a vested interest in said baby quail? How best to return the tiny chick to its family with the cat about?

I waited for the cat to visit her food dish; something I could depend upon. Knowing where the momma and poppa quail had come from, when the cat was in the house I shut the door and carried the baby quail to its point of origin. Once the tiny chick was released it took off at warp speed, seeming to know exactly where it needed to go.

Some will think this is much ado about nothing. Just look at the great number of quail throughout the Valley; what is one baby quail more or less? Henry Thoreau remarked on his “wild chickens,” the partridges of Walden. He commented on the innocence to be seen in the eyes of these partridges that seemed to reflect all that was best to be found in Nature. If you can understand this, you can understand how the eyes of a single, baby quail can melt the heart, stirring a response of what is the best in humankind as well.