Margaret A. Stanger - That Quail, Robert

To Mildred and Tommy Kienzle, who provided the loving environment and understanding care which resulted in the development of a unique personalityRobertand who generously permitted me to write this book

U NTIL JULY 11, 1962, we had no hint of the change about to take place in our lives. On that date there was no Robert; there was just an abandoned egg in a deserted wet nest. We had known that there was a quail nesting in the deep grass beyond the rose garden. My friend and neighbor, Dr. Thomas Kienzle, had discovered the nest in June, and he had carefully left the surrounding grass unmowed.

By dint of patience and long periods of standing motionless, he had seen the little hen go to the nest and had watched her as she reached out with her bill and carefully covered herself with the grasses around her, from one side, from the other side, from front and from back, until she was completely hidden. She had chosen her spot well. Tommy and Mildred had built their house at Orleans, on Cape Cod, high on a bank above a lake, and since it was surrounded by extensive woods, it was a haven for man and bird. As he cleared lawns and paths, Tommy had purposely left piles of brush in among the trees, because quail had often been seen around the place. Of course he had no idea as to when the eggs would hatch, but both he and his wife were on the alert for them.

When their two boys were in their teens, Dr. and Mrs. Kienzle had spent several summers on Cape Cod, and the decision to make this their retirement home had been unanimous. Few men have had a better right to look forward to retirement. For thirty years he had been a member of the medical department of Standard Oil Company, New Jersey; during much of this time he had been responsible for the medical welfare of the thousands of men on their huge fleet of tankers. Previously he had been Assistant Surgeon in the United States Public Health Service. He can tell fascinating stories of his work in Mississippi, on flood control under President Hoover.

Since both the doctor and his wife grew up in Kentucky where they early acquired a deep-rooted love of wildlife, it is not strange that when the time came to locate on Cape Cod, they resisted the efforts of the real estate agent to interest them in seashore property, and chose instead four wooded acres on the high bank of what was originally Fresh Pond, but later known as Crystal Lake. The land was wild and rough, and much of it has been left that way, making it a haven for birds and animals of all kinds, including deer.

In a spacious clearing they built their attractive home, with floor-to-ceiling glass toward the wide patio overlooking the lake. The lawn extends from patio to steps going down the seventy feet to the shore and dock. Wild ducks, geese, herons and gulls are in abundance and the many bird feeders bring field glasses and bird books into frequent use. Into this lovely setting they moved, bringing with them Old Faithful, a goldfish whose actual age is unknown, but who has been with them sixteen years. It is a welcoming home, and I was delighted to have them here, and although I had never been a bird watcher, I soon found myself sharing their enthusiasm.

On that eventful July morning, Tommy went to get the car for a trip to Lexington. As he neared the garage, which is some distance from the house, he was aware of movement in the grass, and his attention was immediately drawn to a female quail apparently in distress. She was in the middle of the driveway, dragging one wing as though it were broken, and seeming to struggle. Tommy stood very still and then saw the male bird, going through the same performance. He realized immediately that he was witnessing one of the most remarkable acts of parental bravery known to the world. The parents were definitely drawing his attention to themselves, away from their young. As he stood quietly he saw two or three tiny balls of fluff moving off the driveway to safety, evidently obeying some kind of direction from the mother. Tommy moved softly back toward the house, and was rewarded by seeing twelve young quail led into the woods. In a few minutes he got the car, picked up Mildred and recounted what he had just been privileged to see. As they drove out of the yard he said:

Look! There they are! The mother quail andtwo, four, eightthere are twelve of them, just going past the rose bush toward the pine trees.

He and his wife sat quietly in the car as the mother quail led the little balls of brown fluff off to safety. Their coloring was so protective that it was hard to follow them even a short distance.

Ive read that the quail hen never returns to the place where the chicks were hatched, so when we come home we will have a look at the nest, said Mildred as they drove on down the driveway. But before they returned, there was a thunderstorm, and they did not visit the nest until the next morning. Even though they knew almost exactly where it was, it was cleverly hidden and not easy to find. They stood looking at itjust a little cup-shaped depression in among the grass.

Wait a minute, said Tommy. I think there is something in it. Sure enough, down in the mud were two eggs, one badly cracked and one perfect. He picked up the perfect one. It was very dirty and covered with tiny, lively mites. They took it into the house, washed it with cold water, sprayed it with bug spray and detergent and left it on the kitchen counter as a curiosity. Later in the day they noticed a small crack in the shell, so just in case, they put a small boudoir lamp beside it for warmth.

For two days they watched it. Nothing happened. But on the third day they thought the egg moved slightly. As they held it to their ears, they could hear a faint ticking inside, like a miniature time bomb.

A quail egg is a lovely thing. It is snowy white, about an inch long, softly rounded at one end and fairly pointed at the other. There certainly was something going on in this one. As they stood transfixed, tiny holes began to appear around the pointed end. Ornithologists tell us that the chick always comes out from the larger end of the egg, but not this one. When there was an almost complete circle of holes, a slight convulsive shudder came from within, and the shell parted. There emerged slowly something resembling a wet bumblebee in size and general appearance. It lay there apparently exhausted, and the doctor and his wife stood watching it in amazement. The living room clock interrupted the silence by striking two, and Mildred realized in horror that they had completely forgotten lunch. She set about preparing it while the doctor continued to gaze. The tiny thing was drying off perceptibly, moment by moment, and before they went in to lunch, they moved the lamp and the chick to the corner of the counter and, more to keep it warm and protected than for any other reason, they barricaded it with cereal boxes and a bag of groceries. When halfway through the meal, they heard a tiny little chirp, and there in the doorway stood the baby, the body now fluffed to the size of an English walnut, tottering on fragile legs, balanced precariously on big feet. They rushed to pick it up, realizing that it must have fallen off the edge of the counter to the floor. A small space between a cereal box and the bag showed clearly where the bird had found its way out of the barricade. Even at the age of about an hour, the chick had followed the sound of human voices and found the first living creatures it was to encountertwo human beings.