Thursday, July 3, 2008

Pride Before the Fall

The day after my last post, Jesse caught the chickens hen pecking a baby quail. We couldn't find the nest, so my favorite babysitter (who sits no more) and I ran our baby to an emergency pet hospital. The quail stood up in my hands and took one last breath before expiring about a block away from salvation. The vet rep told me I had to keep the babies warm, as in hot, as in over 100 degrees. Oops.



Late late that night, or early early the next morning as I was trying to get things straight for work, I heard a chirp chirp outside my back door. It was my cat "playing" with another baby quail. For four years, I've wished that we could have quail in this yard like we had at our last house. Finally I get a nest, and my peaceable kingdom turns into murderous manor.

I held this baby against my bare belly the same way I did my own children when they were born. I drove to the hospital straight away in spite of Jesse's begging me to stay off the streets. As it turns out, it was 2 a.m. and peak drunk-driving time. To illustrate Jesse's point, red, white, and blue swirly lights guided my way through the bleak night. This baby made it to the hospital before death.



The hospital would keep the baby until a representative from Forever Wild arrived. If you love desert wildlife, please take the time to check out their organization. I'm so thankful there was a resource for me with Baby Q1 (may she/he rest in peace), and Baby Q2 (may she/he be rehabilitated). Forever Wild has adoptive quail mothers for babies like mine. How cool is that?

I'm not sure what time I got home, but it was time enough to close my eyes before the hens called to let them out of the coop for their morning bug buffet. I came inside to discover both kids sleeping in my bed with their dad. I carefully picked my way through my daughter's room and crawled into her crowded bed. I found this photo when I downloaded the photos of the quail.



Where to start with this? First, the obvious. What kind of crazy musical beds is this? We slept where we were told when I was growing up. Second, please notice the sheet on the window. The blinds had broken for the third time and the landlord won't let me throw them out. While the blinds waited for repair, I put up that sheet to prove you can take the girl out of Oklahoma, but she'll still use sheets as curtains. Third, housecleaning isn't my forte and I've more than passed that on to my daughter. I like how the closet mirror reflects the coordinating insanity on the bookshelf too. This looks like an I Spy riddle. Finally, do I look the least bit comfortable? There is a fist behind my head; my face is in a stuffed animal; I can't even straighten my legs.

I think Jesse took this photo to prove a point that he's been trying to drive home for a long time. Ours is not a peaceable kingdom. It is barely managed chaos. So if you want to know what my plans are for the rest of the summer, I suppose I should aim for no more deaths and much more cleaning.

1 comment:

  1. “Words are not what they name,
    describe or express.
    What marks are made
    by the living in a place
    are not the life of the place.
    What is written on the surface
    and in the earth
    is not the life of the earth.

    “Know well what is written.
    Know well what is said.
    The words, the ways,
    the marks of days
    passed with thoughts
    of Green Gowan Brae.
    Though these, too,
    are not the Kingdom,
    know well what is written.
    Know well what is said."

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