 
BOB-WHITE No birds of my acquaintance, unless it be bluebirds, goldfinches, chickadees, and thrushes, seem so lovable, so interesting, and so altogether desirable as quail. Our summer meadows would lose much of their charm without the cheery “Bob White” ringing across them. The character of human beings is shown in their voices; that of birds seems likewise revealed. The note of the quail breathes sweetness, tenderness, joy in life, and deep contentment. Unless need of food compels it, the killing of these nearly human creatures seems to me like the “Slaughter of the Innocents.” Few birds are so devoted to their mates or to their young as the quail. Many human parents are less alive to parental responsibilities. It is a well-known fact that while Mother Quail is sitting upon her second nestful of a dozen or more eggs, Father Bob assumes the entire care of the large, restless, older brood. Most birds love their mates and their young, but quail seem to have affection for their brothers and sisters, also. The parents and the two broods sometimes remain together during the winter. When one member of the family is lost, the others give their tender covey-call, to lure home the prodigal. There are few sweeter sounds in nature. Mr. Forbush says: “When the broods are scattered by the gunner, they are reassembled again by a whistled call of the old bird, which has been given, ‘ka-loi-kee, ka-loi-kee,’ and is answered by the whistled repeated response, ‘whoil-kee.’ The syllables almost run together. The first call is uttered with a rising and the other with a falling Dallas Lore Sharp, in his charming book “Wild Life Near Home,” refers to the covey-call as follows: “It was the sweetest bird-note I ever heard, being so low, so liquid, so mellow that I almost doubted if Bob White could make it. But there she stood in the snow with head high, listening anxiously. Again she whistled, louder this time; and from the woods below came a faint answering call, White! The answer seemed to break a spell; and on three sides of me sounded other calls. At this the little signaler repeated her efforts, and each time the answers came louder and nearer. Presently something dark hurried by me over the snow and joined the quail I was watching. It was one of the covey I had heard call from the woods. “Again and again the signal was sent forth, until a third, fourth, and finally a fifth were grouped about the leader. There was just an audible twitter of welcome and gratitude exchanged as each new-comer made his appearance. Once more the whistle sounded; but this time there was no response across the silent field.” Young quail are very precocious. They are able to run about soon after they are hatched. They early learn how to hide and “freeze.” A friend told me of coming suddenly upon a brood. The mother gave a call and all fled instantly, except one that turned into a little brown wooden image under a leaf at his feet. He picked it up and held it in his hand. Not a motion did it make until its mother gave a second call, when it shot out of his hand like a flash. Another friend told me of her experience in finding a lost baby-quail. It was too little and too weak to keep up with the family—was probably the last born. It was so tired and distressed that when she knelt down and placed her cupped hand near it, the poor little thing ran to it, nestled down, and shut its eyes. She discovered the brood and carried the baby over to join its family, but it seemed loath to leave her. Three times it ran back to the warm shelter of her hand. She could hardly bear to abandon it to the life that seemed more than it could endure. Dr. Judd made a careful study of the bobwhite. The following extracts are from his report: “It is the general opinion that with the on-coming of winter the bobwhite is found less often in the open fields, when withered herbaceous plants afford but scant protection from enemies, than in dense bushy, briery coverts and woods. In Maryland and Virginia, the scattered and depleted coveys after the shooting season evidently unite into large bevies. Their favorite resort is a bank with a southern exposure and suitable food-supply. “Robert Ridgway found a clutch of freshly deposited eggs in southern Illinois on October 16, and H. C. Munger found another set in Missouri in January, the parent being afterwards found frozen on the nest. Authentic records show that bobwhite has been known to breed, at least occasionally, somewhere in its range every month in the year.... “In Maryland and Virginia large land-owners often feed their birds in severe weather. Wheat and corn are the best food and should be scattered, if possible, among the briers where the birds are safe from hawks. Bobwhites “The food habits of the bobwhite are noteworthy in several respects. Vegetable matter has long been known to be an important element in the food of the bobwhite. Grain-eating birds are likely to do much harm to crops.... The bobwhite is a notable exception. Not a single sprouting kernel was found in the crops and stomachs of quail examined.” Dr. Judd enumerates eighty-eight varieties of weed seeds that are eaten by quail, and states an amazing number eaten at one time. “One bird shot at Marshall Hall had eaten 1000 ragweed akenes; another contained [quantities of] leguminous seeds, mainly tick-trefoil; a third had eaten 5000 seeds of green foxtail grass, while a fourth had taken about 10000 [infinitesimal] pigweed seeds.” As an insect-destroyer the bobwhite is of enormous value. During the summer, insects form more then one-third of its food. Over one hundred varieties had been discovered by examination of the stomachs of quail in 1905, an unusually large proportion of which were highly injurious to crops. Mr. Forbush thinks that no farmer in Massachusetts can afford to shoot a quail or allow it to be shot on his land, and that if the markets must be supplied, quail must be reared artificially. Our bobwhite sleeps on the ground. The California quail roosts in bushes or trees. One summer evening in Santa Barbara it was my privilege to see a charming phase of quail family life. I was sitting quietly under a tree on a knoll that overlooked a flat shed-roof, when I heard a low call, and a whirring of wings. Mother Quail, accompanied by thirteen little balls of brown feathers, alighted on the roof near me. She talked to her adorable family, and, judging by their quick responses, she evidently gave them numerous commands. They finally ran to the edge of the roof and arranged themselves in a row, faces outward, until she gave another call. Then obediently they gathered around her in a true Kindergarten Circle, heads outward and tails toward her, all ready for bed. There they nestled, until a passer-by disturbed them and, to my great regret, they flew away. In a few minutes I heard a clear loud ku-ku-kow, and on the same roof alighted Father Bob with fifteen restless boys and girls—a veritable Primary Class. He had more trouble in controlling them than Mother had experienced with her docile little ones; they ran hither and thither in spite of his insistent, anxious calls. He succeeded in gathering them about him, however; but just as they were forming their circle, they, too, were frightened away. |
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