LONELY QUAIL, ELVIS & THE ROYAL MAIL

..Or two's company and three's a crowd

ELVIS, far left, with his two anti social

housemates

 I'VE OFTEN thought that if food takes an effort to cook and a greater effort to eat then it's not worth the bother! Quails and their eggs fall in to this category so I generally tend to give them a wide berth on menus and had no intention of buying any for our smallholding.
 However, he-who-should-be-obeyed-but-rarely-is, decided that egg-laying quails would bring a touch of exotica to our growing menangerie of hens, geese and turkeys and so a trio of Japanese painted quail duly arrived without prior consultation. This will, of coure, come back to bite hubby who should know by now that for every action there is a reaction.
  For example, it wouldn't surprise me in the least if some equally exotic new additions find their way into our farm in the Borders ... watch this space.
 The quails are being kept in temporary accomodation until hubby comes good with a promise of state-of-the-art housing for his birds. I can't see how we are going to make a fortune from these weird, excitable little things ... I can't recall seeing any Quail breeders make the Forbes List.
 As small as they are they are also not without problems. Three days ago I noticed two of them ganging up on the smaller of the trio, aiming dart-like for the left eye with their tiny beaks and so I intervened. He, or even she (how do you sex a Quail?) has been a constant companion ever since my rescue and snuggles up to my neck on an evening. No longer a resident in the hen pen, this Little One has managed to secure a spot in the house and accompanies me everywhere.

IN THE BAG: Elvis, now making occasional appearances at

 Jedburgh Post Office

 Today we ventured to the Post Office where we wowed a whole line of queuing customers when the Little One poked his head from out of the top of my handbag. After the initial "oohs and aahs" the questions came thick and fast until I was asked if he had a name. There was a two second silence in which I decided everyone would think I was a bad, irresponsible owner if I had not given him a name. As they looked on accusingly by the third second I blurted out the name "Elvis".  This had the net effect of those arround me subconciously taking one step back, holding frozen smiles with a look in their eyes that said I needed to be in a padded cell. Who knows why I blurted out such nonsense; I've never been a fan of The King and nor do I have any of his records ... let's just be grateful that Wills and Kate put  a little more forethought into naming their son George.