The Adventures of Quincy O’Quail

What a nice little quail he was with striking feathers and a black face topped by a crown that had just the right amount of tilt.

Quincy grew up in a large household and loved the fact he finally was old enough to go out on his own and not be under his parent’s constant supervision.  He would venture down to Mr. McGregor’s garden because he knew the old man put fresh seed out for the birds several times everyday.  So Quincy had a good time in the green grass and surrounding rocky areas.  Of course, he learned to do the “chicken dance” from his parents when he was a tiny quail.  Scratch, scratch, scratch, peck, peck, scratch, scratch, scratch, peck, peck… life went on day after say with Sergeant O’Quail keeping watch on the garden fence.

 First baby quail of the season

On day, Herbert decided he wanted to accompany his worldly brother, so he tagged along.  Quincy told him to stay with Sergeant O’Quail because it wasn’t safe, but did he listen?  No, of course not!  Soon he was pecking on the lawn beside his brother.

“He doesn’t know of the dangers I face out her everyday,” thought Quincy.  He couldn’t enjoy his feasting because he was very worried about Herbert.  Even with Sergeant O’Quail on duty, it wasn’t always safe.  The birds of prey liked to swoop in and catch them unaware and then there was always the roadrunner with his cunning smile and sharp teeth.

 Quail with babies

Herbert was happily eating away as he did the “chicken dance,” very unaware of any lurking dangers.  Quincy found he couldn’t indulge in any pleasure at all because he was always watching for predators and keeping an eye out on his brother.  He made up his mind he would talk to his parents that very evening after they got home.

They arrived at the family hovel, just before dark.  They were lucky to find this large sagebrush, big enough to accommodate everybody.  They shuffled inside and tried to find a place to tuck in for the night.  The bush was overflowing with the family and visiting relatives who lost their sagebrush during a windstorm.  Life in the desert could be treacherous.  Besides the predators, there was always nature to put up with and it wasn’t always kind.

 Quail with teenager babies

“Mama, I have to talk to you,” Quincy tried to barge in, pushing his brothers and sisters out of the way.  “It’s important, Mama,” he said.

“Will you younguns’ go and find a place to roost?”  She shooed them off and then turned to Quincy.  “Okay, what is so important, son?”

“Mama you have to keep Herbert with you.  He wants to follow me and I can’t scrounge for food and watch after him at the same time.  As you know there are lots of dangers we face here in the desert.”

“That's quite true Quincy, but he has to learn the same way you did.”

“Well Mama I barely escaped with my life that time.  You know the roadrunner almost got me when I was a child.”

“Yes, that's true, but you survived and you’re the wiser for it now.  Isn’t that right, Quincy?”

“Yes, Mama.”

“Well, I think Herbert needs to learn as well.”

“But Mama I don’t know if he can escape the attack the way I did.  In fact, I wonder how I even did it when I go over it in my mind.  I could very well not even be here today you know.”

“Yes, I know that, but you got away and you are here.  It’s your responsibility to teach the others; after all you were the first to hatch.”

“Well I refuse to be held accountable for the outcome of Herbert, if he tags along,” Quincy stomped his foot for emphasis.

“Try to get some rest, Quincy.  It’s a big job to be the older brother and a lot of responsibility.”  His mother ruffled his feathers and gave him a peck on the cheek.

He found a spot in the corner under the sagebrush, finding it hard to squeeze into a place that another relative didn’t occupy.  He tucked in to brood.  In the desert, night came on fast and it was getting quite dark already.  Quincy could hardly make out his relatives in the sagebrush.  They were only silhouettes and soon he was fast asleep.  He began to dream.

Here are some small babies with mama at the water dish.

I hope you like my short story for Q.  This is reblogged from my post 10-7-2012

Trouble in the Alley - Part One

Hello all,

I thought I’d do something different this time and post a short story about my cats.  I’ve been writing stories about them for years.  I wrote this a while back and it’s crazy, as I like to make up goofy stories about them according to their personalities.  I’m posting this in two parts so it isn’t too long.  Thanks for putting up with me.  Fell free to leave comments below.

 Ceaser

Ceaser walked around surveying his domain.  Comet, his assistant, stands ready, pistol on her hip.

 Comet

Cats lounged about the broken pavement and dented trashcans.  The alley behind the local deli was their hangout and home.

Ceaser lit up a cigar, his foot perched on a discarded stump as he bent in conference with Comet.  As they talked, a shiny black car cruised down the alley, going slow, the silver wheels glinting in the sunlight.  Their eyes turned to the car as Wizard drove up in his pimpmobile, his pink fedora cocked on his head, the feathers fluttering in a burst of wind.

 Wizard

“Now you get on over there darlin’ and get some rest for tonight,” the black cat sashayed out and opened the heavy door, a couple of sexy felines got out dressed in leather mini-skirts.  They strutted off toward the brothel as Ceaser walked up, followed by Comet.

“Hey, bro, what brings you out to this part of the alley?  You know some of these cats don’t take too kindly to you pimping around here.”

“That’s right,” Comet jumped in, “You’re in dangerous territory, too soft for this neighborhood.”

Ceaser, Comet, Wizard

Wizard shook his head, leaning back on his slick black Cadillac.  He took off his large felt hat with a flourish, the puffy pink feather hitting Comet across the nose.  “What you mean, man?” he said.  “I’m just dropping some ladies off.”

“You watch that feather,” Comet growled, a hand on her hip touching the butt of her gun.  She backed up to lean against the warehouse door, eyebrows creased, on alert.

“One of these cool hats might brighten up your outfit, girl,” Wizard swaggered over to look Comet in the eye, twirling his hat around in his hand.

“Who is going to listen to me in some sissy hat like that?  You bring me cowboy leather and maybe we can talk.  It’ll go better with my boots and holster.”

“When you going to show a little leg?”  Wizard asks.  “Golly girl, what’s the matter with you?”

“Ain’t nothin’ wrong with me.  You best get in that fancy car and get outta our neighborhood.”

“Come on now,” Ceaser intervened, puffing his cigar, hanging from the edge of his mouth.  “This is my bro you sassing to.”

“I was goin’ anyway,” Wizard replies and ambled over to the waiting car.  “I’ll be back later to pick those girls up.”

Comet kicked a few cans and went on down the alley to start a little trouble with some cool cats down at the other end.  They’re sitting around downing some alcohol, and shooting the bull, bragging about last night’s affairs.

“Don’t go sticking your nose into their business, you hear Comet.” Ceaser warned her as she strutted off.

 Comet

"Just keepin’ everyone in line,” Comet glanced back, her gray fur bristling.  “Makin’ sure they know who the boss is in this alley.”  The soles of her boots clicked against the cement, silence falling over the group as she drew closer.

“Hey Poncie, Unkie, how you guys?”  She looked into their eyes, drooping and bloodshot, their clothes rumpled and smelling of whiskey.  They passed around a warm beer offering her some.

“Nah thanks.  You cats have a rough night?”

“Lookin’ for Poncie’s fountain of youth,” Unkie shrugged.  “Not found it so far.”

“Hey Squeaky, you okay girl?”  Comet nudged the black ball of fur with her boot.  “You lookin’ rougher than them.  Why don’t you go inside and sleep?”

“I’m okay here, leave me alone,” Squeaky managed to get out before she puked against the wall.

Comet backed up and tried to ignore that.  She didn’t want any vomit splatter on her boots.  How much info can I get out of these pitiful cats?  She decided to venture another question.  “Anybody seen Ringtail and Missy?”

 Poncie

“They was smooching it up downtown last I saw of them,” Poncie answered his voice more of a croak, as he spit beer to the side.  He nudged his partner and they snickered.

“Everybody clean up.  Ceaser’s havin’ a meetin’ this afternoon,” Comet announced.  “Pass the word around to the others.”  She left them in their misery and gave the tin cans another kick as she headed back to find Ceaser leaning up again to the warehouse door, the cigar hanging loosely on his lips with a gray curl of smoke drifting skyward.

“You pass the word around?”  Ceaser asked as he pulled her close and nipped at her ear.

“Yeah, but those cats are in bad shape.  Not sure half of them will show up.  Maybe we better postpone the meetin’ until tomorrow, give everyone a chance to recoup from Mama Wong’s party.”

 Ceaser and Comet

“I’m top cat here.  They better come when I call.” Ceaser nuzzled Comet’s neck, “Why don’t we go upstairs a while, darlin’?”

“Who’s goin’ to keep everyone in line?”

Koki

“Maybe Koki will do it.  She has a pissy streak about her at times.”

“No, anyone but her.  We don’t get along at all,” Comet complained.  “I always have to remind her I’m the boss, know what I mean?  How about Tootie?”

 Tootie

“Tootie’s too nice,” Ceaser said.

“Maybe so,” Comet considered that point.

“Aw now you’re not jealous of Koki are ya, Comet, sweetie?”  Ceaser licked her on the cheek.  “You know I only have eyes for you.”

“Then you ask her.  I’ll meet you upstairs.”  Comet winked and swayed her hips as she slinked off to the door and disappeared inside.

Ceaser looked over at Koki sitting on a barrel whittling a point on a stick and wondered what that was for as he walked over.

The Desert is Cold



Hi guys,


    I’ve been writing on my WIP like mad, so haven’t written up a post for today. I did find an old, crazy story in my files that I wrote up off-the-cuff a couple of years ago. It was one of those days. My mind was wondering into my fantasy world, as it does from time to time. I dusted it off, so I’m posting that today.
    I know I promised an Alaska story and I’ll get to that, perhaps in my post for Wednesday. It has been cold enough around here to write about Alaska. It was 10 degrees last night and supposed to be 7 degrees tonight with a high of 27 on both days. We never got over freezing yesterday either. It’s actually terrible if you hate cold weather like me, but I do have to say we have sunshine and no SNOW, which I really despise.
    I feel sorry for the birds that are looking for water and it freezes about as soon as we put it out. This morning, even though it is frosty, there are two chipmunks out there. Those little buggers are scurrying about when they are supposed to hibernate in the winter, but there are always a couple that are shy of a full deck and come out anyway. We also have a rabbit out there today munching on the frozen grass.
    Anyway, without further rambling, here is my crazy, short story.

 

The rescue of Ms X


         Ms. X was walking down the sidewalk wearing a big read floppy hat. All of a sudden, a big gust of wind caught her up and carried her down the street. She was flying over the rooftops not knowing what to do as she saw the traffic going by below.

       A few minutes later, the wind deposited her onto the steeple of the nearby church. The Father ran outside when he heard all the commotion. Ms X was screaming for help from his steeple. Why, how on Earth did she get up there? The Father wondered, and he fretted about how to get her down when along came farmer Bob in an old, beat up truck.

       “What can we do?” the father cried. He was beside himself that Ms X would fall off and hurt herself. She screamed, whipping her arms about, trying to get someone’s attention in hopes that a rescuer would arrive.

       “Hold on Father, I have a ladder at the barn,” the farmer said and climbed back into his rusted, blue truck and rambled off down the road.

       Meanwhile the neighbors heard the racket Ms X was making and one by one, they ventured to the country church to lend a hand. Father went into the parish to see if he could call the fire brigade to come and help. They were good with emergencies.

       “Help, help,” Ms X screamed. She wrestled to free her dress off the steeple.

       “Just stay put ma’am, we’ll get you down from there.” The local barber assured her. But no sooner had his words left his mouth that Ms X let out a yelp as she slid down the steep slope of the roof.

       “I’m falling,” she cried, trying to grab onto the shingles on the way down.

       Mabel had been walking by with a basket full of laundry. She was on her way to washateria down the road. “Quick, help me,” she called. “Stretch out a sheet. If we hurry we may catch her as she slides off.” She squatted to dig through the dirty laundry. As she quickly shuffled through the heap, her skirt rose up to reveal her withered legs and old stockings rolled down at the ankles. Things fell from the basket onto the lawn and soon unmentionables were scattered all about the grounds of the church. “Oh dear,” she bit her lip and pulled her threadbare skirt over her bony knees. This is really no time to be modest when there is a life at stake.

       The neighbors gathered pulling and tugging at the wadded up sheet until the corners unravelled, each held taught by a group of unlikely characters. They all hoped the makeshift net would hold as they rushed toward the church. Ms X wasn’t the smallest lady in the village.

       “Quick run this way boys,” Mabel directed the rescue crew.

       Ms X had shifted to grab hold of her last hope – an exhaust pole from the churches bathrooms that protruded through the roof. That was a ghastly move because the old rusty pipe bent and broke; causing her body to take a turn. She found herself now sliding down at the north end of the building. Luckily, the old pipe caught on the edge of a shingle that had lifted up in all the heavy rain.

       Everyone hurried around spurred on by Mabel who was shouting and bringing up the rear.

       “Hurry Mr. Peabody,” Mabel shouted. Mr. Peabody waddled along in his plaid vest trying to keep up. She knew that one day his weight would cause a problem. She just never expected this to be the day.

       Wayward Clyde tried to pick up the slack. He was a country boy working in the dry goods store for the summer. Long, lean, and disheveled, he had the look of just stepping out of the hay barn. In fact, when business was slow, he would stand on the porch and pluck a blade from the broom to chew on. Instead of sweeping and tidying up, he would sit on the old barrel and chew on that straw as he watched the girls go by.

       Arnold ran the butcher shop and a fine butcher he was, short and stocky, yet very able-bodied. No one would want to be the poor beef that came up against his cleaver. He had hold of the corner opposite Clyde and stood with this white apron askew wanting to get the business over with, so he could get back to work.

       “When we finish here I think we should hold a pot luck supper at the church,” Hazel said, as she scurried around. She was the social butterfly of the group, always organizing the village get-togethers and bake sales. “That will surely lift everyone spirits. I’ll make my apple strudel.”

       “Hazel we can socialize later,” Mabel scolded. “We better hurry, or it isn’t a potluck we’ll all be attending.”

       “Oh Mabel dear, don’t be such a pessimist,” Hazel replied.

       “Help, I can’t hold on any longer.” Ms X screamed, as she listened to all the gossip below. That got the attention of the rescue squad. They ceased all their chatter and get into position below the slope of the roof. Everyone stood ready with a taught sheet as Ms X plunged off the roof at great speed, bounced a couple of times before finally coming to rest.
       “What are you looking at boy?” Ms X glared at Clyde who snickered.

       “Nothing, ma’am, nothing,” he blurted, as Wilbur hit him on the head.

       Ms X was very embarrassed and covered her legs as Mabel and Wilbur helped her to her feet.

       “Oh my poor hat will never be the same,” Ms X looked at it sorrowfully. “I was going to wear this to the spring social. Oh dear, I think this dress is ruined too.” She looked down at her torn frock. “I just don’t know what happened. One minute I was taking a nice walk and the next I was airborne.”

       “Well let’s get you washed up dear. Everything will be okay I’m sure,” Mabel took an arm and, helped by Hazel, they took her up the steps and into the washroom of the church.

       About then, the old farmer, Bob, rambled up in his blue truck. The door creaked open on squeaky hinges and he hopped out and dusted off his overalls. “I’ve brought the ladder boys,” he shouted.

       “What took you so long? We’ve already rescued Ms X,” Henry ran over to help, his bare feet slapping on the sidewalk.

       “Bessie got out of the barn. Course you know I couldn’t have that, my milk cow wandering off.” With hooded eyes, Bob looked around. “What else happened while I was gone?” He was shocked as he looked around. Littering the church grounds were shingles and assorted laundry. Half the town stood around.

       “It’s a long story Bob. I’ll tell you over checkers,” Leroy pulled him aside. “You want to take this rattle trap, or should I drive?” He pushed his visor back and waited for a reply. His white shirt rippled in the breeze as he pulled out a notebook to make notes of the scene.

       “Come on folks, let’s move along, and stop gawking. All ended well. See everyone at the potluck later,” the Father clapped his hands, as he moved around the parishioners.

       “Yes Father.” “Of course, Father.” “We’re looking forward to it.” Mumbles went around the crowd as people started to disperse.

        Everyone in the little village went back to their normal routine after cleaning up the church grounds. It was a marvel they could all come together to rescue poor Ms X and what great thinking on Mabel’s part, who just happened to be going by at that moment on her way to the laundry.

        “What a great little village we all live in,” Leroy remarked as he finished off the article for the local paper.

Writing Prompt – Called in the middle of the night



The phone roused me from of my thoughts about the dilemma I was in.  I had been contemplating what to do about the other night.

“Hullo,” I answered in a slurred voice.  Sure, I had been drinking.  What else could I do in my situation?  Yes, it didn’t solve the problem I had, but it took the edge off.

“Ellie, I need you to do me a favor,” Robert’s voice came from the end of the receiver.  Robert was a good friend I met in college, but I hadn’t spoken to him in awhile.

“What’s the matter, Robert?  You sound upset.”

“I’ll explain everything when you get here.  Can you come and pick me up?”  Robert spoke in hushed tones with a touch of panic in his voice.

“Well yeah, I guess,” I mumbled and tried to sit up, groping around for the shoes I had tossed off earlier.  I wondered if I should even get on the road, but I felt compelled to help if I could.

I rummaged around on the cluttered coffee table, knocking things on the floor, as I searched for the notepad and pen I knew was there – somewhere.

I could feel Roberts’s angst as he sighed into the phone and waited, then proceeded to give me directions that I scribbled down, hoping I could read my own writing.

I managed to find my purse and car keys, grabbed my jacket off the chair, and stumbled to the door.  I needed to shake off this woozy feeling and wake up.  All I needed was more trouble.

I grabbed a bottle and splashed some on my face before locking the door.

Moments later, I was in the car and traveling out of town looking for the road Robert told me to take.  Luckily, most everyone was in bed so there was no traffic.  However, I was still aware of my drunken state and tried to manage the car as best I could so as not to draw any attention to myself.

Soon I found myself traveling down the gravel road looking for the old barn Robert said would be there.  A half-moon showed dips and ruts in the old road.  I tried to stay in the tracks and not veer off to the side, or to the middle where a ridge of grass grew undisturbed.  I wondered what kind of trouble Robert had gotten himself involved in, and how that would add to my own problems.  I didn’t have a good feeling about this.

I found the whole setting to be on the spooky side and began to wonder why I had agreed to meeting anyone out here in the middle of the night.  The phone call did sound urgent, prompting me off the couch, getting me out of my apartment.

Everything looked abandoned, as you would expect it would be in the middle of the night.  The hoot of an owl brought me back out of ghostly thoughts.  My hand instinctively reached over to lock the doors.  My spine tingled, my nerves were on edge, and I felt cold even though it was a balmy June night.

I drove on, inching along, the gravel crunching under my tires as I made my way down the road.  Bushes flanked the edges in places, the expanse of field stretched on for miles.

At last, the half-moon provided enough light to silhouette an old barn in the distance.  My breath caught, it looked frightening, the only structure around for miles.  I thought of a Halloween party years before and took a deep breath.

I inched closer, the ringing of my cell phone made me jump catching me off-guard.  Who would be calling me now?  I was too afraid to stop, to look at the screen, so I let it go to message and proceeded down the road at a snail’s pace.

The barn loomed dark and ominous in front of me.  I pulled up in front of it and then....