Bob-Bob-White

Maybe it was nostalgia. Maybe it was a second glass of Divine Llama's Cabernet Franc. Regardless of what it was, a little over a year ago, Mark and I sat at the bar here in the kitchen and huddled by this computer. We were ordering chickens, which lead to ordering ring-neck pheasants, which lead to ordering quail.

In the 70s, when temperatures rose in the spring and summer, families in my neighborhood headed outside for hamburger and hot dog dinners, watermelon cuttings and homemade ice cream gatherings. As the adults shot the breeze, kids would amuse themselves with things like catching fireflies, which we called lightnin' bugs. On these occasions you could always hear two bird songs - Whip-or-will, whip-or-will and Bob-bob-white, bob-bob-white.

When we moved home and settled down out on the swing on the screened in porch in the evenings, I was surprised - or disappointed rather - by the lack of those songbirds.

So buying chickens turned to ring-neck pheasants, because they're so darn beautiful, and to quail because I want to hear those songs again. The pheasants were hardy and easy to raise. They quickly transitioned to the chicken coop and then off into the wild. While we haven't seen them here, we have received reports from them down the road at a neighbor's house.

The quail - or Bob Whites - were a whole different story. These babies were only the size of my thumb when they arrived. We quickly learned that they needed a heat lamp to keep the temperature right in order for them to survive and their water had to be set up so they didn't fall in and get wet. These are merciless baby birds who attack and kill each other for merely getting wet.

About 25 of them survived. I've been waiting and longing to hear them sing "bob-bob-white." I stand by their cage and whistle it, but nothing happens.

Mark came into the house the other day and played a sound bite from his cell phone. He'd been over to their cage near the chicken coop late in the evening and captured it for me - two simple little bob-bob-white calls. I was music to my ears. An evening or two later we were out there later than usual and I heard it myself. Mark and I both froze, locked eyes and smiled.

Soon, we'll turn some of them out into the wild, where we hope they can survive and fill these woods up once again with their songs. The others we're going to keep in the cage and see if they'll catch and raise some of their own young. It's just too much work for us. If you think raising a puppy or kitten is tough, try a quail. And, keep listening for it.....bob-bob-white, bob-bob-white...