I love late spring at the U. All the trees in the state arboretum are in full bloom; people come out of hiding and eat lunch al fresco; outside the Union Building, students throw a Frisbee back and forth on the lawn; community members walk their dogs; squirrels become more active; birds begin chirping; and the rabbit that lives close to my building  makes its way out to a patch of grass to nibble. What can I say? It’s a Disney movie out there.

A bunny getting breakfast outside of the Union Building.

Soon, the quail coveys will start to show and the chicks that look like speckled cotton balls will be running zig-zags behind their parents. So, at this time of year, right before Father’s Day, and while witnessing the rebirth of nature, I drift fondly back to my days at the U. One day in particular…

(if this were a TV show, it would be where the camera gets up close, goes fuzzy, and does that wavy thing to indicate a memory)

I was walking down the hill to class from my dorm room (in the old dorms, not the spiffy ones we have on campus now), when I noticed a female quail nervously running back and forth in front of a 4-foot-deep window well next to another dormitory. A girl was watching out her window and I asked what was up. She said, “There are baby quail down there.” Sure enough, about 8 little chicks were squeaking and running around on top of each other at the bottom of the window well. My mom used to volunteer for a nature center that would give her various young birds to nurse, so I was kind of familiar with some of the rules. The big rule is: don’t touch the chicks because the mother may never feed them if they have your scent or, worse yet, might peck them to death. The only thing available and that I could think to use besides my hands was a window screen. So I prepared to get to work (class, what class?).

The girl took the screen out of her room window and left (I guess she wasn’t worried about valuables, or quail). I proceeded to lay on my belly and try to get the chicks onto the screen, which was almost the same width as the window well, so I had to be careful not to crush the little fluff-balls against the side. They would run so fast, though, I couldn’t keep them on the screen. I ended up sprawled like that for at least an hour, dipping the screen into the mass of pop-corn-like chicks, picking up a few, tilting the screen back and forth as they ran from one side to another, getting them half-way up the well and then one would run all the way off and PLOP! down to his brothers and sisters. It’s a good thing little birds are designed to take falls from a great distance.

All the while, when “Mom” wasn’t running back and forth and making distressed noises, she was dive-bombing me because she had no idea I was trying to help. I admit, for a long time I didn’t seem very helpful. As I’d inch one chick up to the top and set it on the grass, however, it would fall in line behind her and she would calm down … a bit.

I finally got the last little quail out, and Mom had everyone in line behind her. Without so much as a “thanks for saving my babies,” she and the little ones ran off. Unbeknownst to me, about 20 yards away was a male quail, who had been watching, and who I assume was the “baby daddy,” as they say. When Mom got over to Dad, she stood right next to him, facing each chick. They honestly lined up like the Von Trapp family…I was waiting for a song.

But, then, the dad started squawking at them. Now, I don’t speak quail, but he was speaking a language I do know…the international language of “Dad.” It surely went something like this (loosely translated): “Now, haven’t your mother and I told you a million times to watch where you’re going, especially when you get close to those buildings and big holes? What would you have done if that girl hadn’t come along? You would have gone without dinner, that’s what. Your mother and I can’t worry about you out gallivanting and falling down holes. We have work to do to feed you and provide  you shelter. And, you, Suzie, you hatched first. You should have watched your brothers and sisters more carefully. I tell you, I have half a mind to run you back over to that window well and push you all in. Now, get in line, and don’t even think of making a peep until we get home!”

If he’d had a finger, I’m sure he’d have been wagging it at them. Happy Father’s Day, Dads.

Want to know what a quail sounds like? Go to the Western Soundscape archive at Marriott Library here.