The quail were working the block of bird-seed.  I was sitting at the table eating breakfast and watching them.

Quail are my favorite birds.  I’d made an 18-inch-high platform out of a piece of plywood, and four wooden blocks for legs, under which I kept the block of bird-seed.  The platform shielded the block from the weather, gave the quail some cover, and made a snow-free area in which the quail could feed.

Getting through a hard winter was difficult for my feathered friends.  They lived on seeds, and deep snows made seeds hard to find.  The bird-seed blocks had been in place three winters now.  I’d started midway through the first winter with just eight birds left in the neighborhood covey—six males and two females.  Thanks to the bird block, they all survived till spring.

The next winter there were two dozen quail.  It did my heart good to see so many birds using my feeder.  They were all so cute with their little topknots and plump, little bodies.  I was glad to see their population increasing.

It had been a hard night.  Our 4-year-old had been sick.  Since my wife had the baby to care for, the 4-year-old became my responsibility.  He’d finally gone off to sleep just at the break of day.  He and my wife and the baby were sleeping peacefully, so I’d come into the kitchen to fix my breakfast and not disturb them.

I was so tired.  Fortunately I wasn’t a quail.  They had to go to work even though it was Saturday, and they had to do it in the snow.  I was wrapped in my warm blanket, having eaten my warm cereal, in my warm kitchen, with my chin resting in my hands as I watched the busy, little birds out the window.

As I did every morning, I tried to count them.  It was an impossible task.  They were closely clustered together, and were constantly in motion.  Once I’d counted up to 122, but I knew there were more.  I had to begin my count again…and then again…and then…

 

Life is a matter of vigilance and of familial brotherhood.  Here I am safe and secure in this flock of friends and relatives.  My nine brothers and sisters are here.  So are Mom and Dad and more cousins, aunts and uncles than I’m able to count.  We’re a supremely happy family living in a supremely good and beautiful world.  Our territory provides us with all the food, shelter, sunshine and air that we need.  Who could ask for anything more?

These were my thoughts as I took my turn standing watch on the fence rail while everyone else scratched for seeds.  It was a good world, but also dangerous.  That’s why I was up on the rail.  It was my job for a few minutes to keep a lookout for cats, hawks, weasels, dogs and people.  I kept up a little chirruping in my throat to let everyone down below know that all was well.  That was my job.  I’d only have to be here for a few minutes, and then someone else would take my place so that I could eat, too.

What a great system.  What great companions.  What a great family.  This is the way life should be.

That’s as far as my thoughts got before my cousin hopped up on the fence rail to relieve me.  I took one last look around, and then flew down to the bird seed block.  I didn’t get a single peck.  In flew a magpie, and everyone abandoned the block to stand in the snow about four feet away.

I’m glad I’m a quail, and not a magpie.  Magpies are bullies.  They swoop in, take over the bird block, and make all of us move out of the way until they’ve had their fill.  We outnumber the magpies, but we let them have their way.  They peck each other and bully one another, but we never do.  We work side by side with never a squabble.  Everybody should be a quail.  The world would be a better place.

The world would be a better place without hawks, too.  Part of my job is to watch for the red-tail hawk that regularly sits in the top of the spruce tree watching for us to come out from under cover.  He flew in from behind it while we were out in the open and got one of us last week.

Two days later we had another scare.  We were all busy scratching for seeds in the bare area under the juniper tree in the people’s yard when we heard the screech of old red-tail.  Every head jerked up.  That’s the way we do things.  In any emergency we act in unison.  If the emergency is real we simultaneously take to flight.  In this instance, however, we poised for flight but realized it was just the stellar’s jay trying to scare us away so that he could have our feeding place.  It’s a favorite trick of his.  He perfectly imitates old red-tail, but we’ve been fooled too many times.  Everyone went back to work, and ignored his next two attempts to fool us.

Why must some be so devious?  Why can’t everyone get along?  What makes a liar like that jay, or a bully like the magpies?  We’d be perfectly happy to share our space and our food sources with both the jay and the magpies.

Starlings and juncos feed among us without any trouble.  None of us are the least bit prejudiced about species.  It’s actually an advantage to have starlings mingling with us.  They’re as wary as we are, but in slightly different ways.  Both of us are safer when we’re together.  The starlings know it, and use us to their advantage.  We like them.  They’re an advantage to us, too.  I’m glad I’m a quail.  I wouldn’t want to be a starling, but it’s nice to be on such friendly terms with them.  Tolerance is a great principle that benefits everybody.

Toleration doesn’t apply to those who are always out to harm you.  Hawks, cats, dogs and weasels are like that.  The only way to handle them is to stay out of their way, keep your eye on them, and to otherwise ignore them.

Humans are the creatures hardest to figure out.  They’re mercurial.  Sometimes they act like friends, and other times they’re mortal enemies.  Sometimes they try to shoot us even though we’re peace loving and innocent of any wrong-doing.  Other times they try to be friends and help us.  I think that’s the case with the human that lives in the house.  I think he puts the blocks of bird-seed here.  You can never tell what a human might do, though, so whenever one approaches, we take flight.

Humans have their world, and we have ours.  We need to keep our eyes on their world, because of the dangers humans present; but, thankfully we don’t have to be part of it.  We can be in their world, but not of it.  I’m glad I’m not a human.  They have all the unsavory traits of magpies, jays and hawks.

 

“What are you doing?” my wife asked.

I gave a violent jerk.

“Why you were asleep, weren’t you?” my wife said.  “I’m sorry.  Did you have a bad night with our boy?”

“Yeah, it was a long one, but do you have any idea how nice it is to be warm, and to not have to fight with magpies for your breakfast, or to be on constant lookout for dangers that could kill you in an instant?  I’m glad I’m a human, and ashamed at the same time.  Does that make any sense to you?”

“Not a bit.  Look, Honey, why don’t you go back to bed, and I’ll take the next watch.”—2012