Bob-White

There was a quail in my front yard this morning. I was working on the computer when I heard the “bob-bob-WHITE!” I knew he was close, but it took me several of his calls to realize he was so close. I got up from the table and went to the kitchen window; he was standing under the dogwood tree nearest the house, and as I watched he lifted his head and called again:

Bob, Bob, WHITE!

I could easily see his little white throat stretch out on the final syllable. such a startling contrast to the dark brown bands around his face, the rich brown of his back and the simple cream of his breast.

After a few moments, he quit calling and simply began to stroll in the yard, occasionally pecking something off the ground.

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