Late at night, I sneak downstairs into the garage. It’s fairly isolated so I can turn the light on. I creep across the carpet (yes, my garage is carpeted) and check the young quails. Occasionally, they’ll need water or food, but usually by night they are asleep. Then I look in the other, smaller box. My special little mate usually gives me a chirp. It has no use of one leg and the other appears only partly useful.
I’ll pick him up and help him drink some water. I check there is plenty of food lying around the box for ease of access. Then I sit in a single seater lounge chair and put it on the hollow of my throat. I gently place a hand across its’ back. Within about 3 seconds, it is warm, cosy and fast asleep. I try to stay for at least a half hour.
You see, when it was born, I figured that it would die within a few days. I couldn’t put it with the other birds but I wanted it to have experienced something nice in its’ tiny little life. So I began to let it have skin contact. We will continue the routine until the inevitable probably happens. Tonight, I noticed his wings have sprouted tiny feathers. My broken baby is now a broken teenager. But, he has known love.
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