Mind Muses
The One-Legged Quail
by sally thomson on 09/08/15
The one-legged quail today died today. I took him to the brush pile so he would be
cremated. I couldn’t allow a varmint to dig him up or eat him.
That
quail lived a long time. His leg was taken off when he was just a youngster and
he lived his life with a stump. It slowed him down some and he was prohibited
from living a regular quail’s life, but nevertheless he endured. His life was a
testament to tenaciousness.
The
little quail’s death hit especially hard because he was the last living
reminder of a good friend who died a few months ago. James was a dairyman who
lived about two miles down the road. My daughter milked for him and took care
of the rest of his animals: chickens, ducks, pigs, and the quail. As often as I
could, I visited the dairy; pitching in by washing eggs or feeding.
James
was a man with big dreams. He had grand plans for his little farm. The quail played
a minuscule part in that dream, but he had his appointed role in the scheme of
things. James called him his “guard dog”; at night the quail raised a ruckus if
anything came around the yard. Then a burst blood vessel cut our friend’s dreams
short.
The
dairy shut down right after James’ death; all the animals were sold. Saying
goodbye to our friend went from difficult to impossible, as we saw all his
dreams dismantled.
My
daughter brought the crippled quail home. No one else would look after him. To
me, the tiny bird stood for a little piece of our friend living on.
He
didn’t have a wonderful life; with only one leg he rarely got out of his cage.
But he sang nearly every morning and chittered softly whenever we went by. His
attitude was always upbeat, and he gave me pleasure just caring for him.
Then
one day, he was still, lifeless, and silent. Perhaps the heat was too much for
him. Or it was just his time; he was three years old by then.
Losing
the little guy was sad. Hardest to take, though, was losing this last reminder
of my friend. It brought his loss back to my mind to be felt all over again. I
have good memories of James; stories to relate and episodes to relive; buckets
and tubs and milk jugs as reminders. But the empty space his death caused is a
little larger at the loss of the quail.
Welcome
by sally thomson on 06/19/15Welcome to my mind muses! Where I talk about whatever. Comments are welcome, I want to know what you think.
