She made one other change during this visit. She discovered that by flying up on a little chest which stands under a window of the keeping room she could not only look out to her solarium but ask to go out that way. Never again did she stand at the door as she had always done. Also this time, when I opened the window she would go out by herself and stay for long periods of time. Only when I heard her little lonesome cry did I go out. She would not come in through the window, but she always went out that way.
She had many visitors, as usual, most of whom knew her well. Several people remarked that she seemed to be slowing down. I would not agree to that, but did have to admit that she seemed more mature, more sedate and less mischievous. Perhaps she did spend more time sitting on my shoulder as I wrote, and I had to admit that she no longer interfered with my typing. She was very lively out of doors, and I often saw her jump up to a height level with the middle of the window to catch a bug. I look back on those ten days with great pleasure.
Early in November the little spur-like growth at the corner of her beak reappeared. It had been successfully snipped off several times, but now it began to spread inside her mouth. Whether the outer growth interfered with her seeing her food or whether an actual failing of sight was the cause, we did not know, but she required a great deal of assistance in eating. The growth prevented her from completely closing her beak, and she could not preen each individual feather as she had always done so carefully; but she tried. Soon every seed, every bit of food, had to be put well back in her mouth, and Mildred spent hours each day doing so. She always saw to it that Robert went to bed with a nicely filled crop. I doubt if any pet, or for that matter many persons, ever had such devoted care. Even water had to be given to her.
Through all this her spirits and her disposition did not change. She even found a new delight, one which was quite foreign to the nature of her kind. She took several flights up to the very peak of the roof, and there she would stand, on the ridgepole, stretched to her full height of ten inches, in a tiptoe position, just looking around. Quail will on very infrequent occasions seek refuge on a low limb of a tree, but they are not given to high perching. Robert seemed to like the enlarged view of the world, and sometimes stayed there for fifteen minutes.
During those weeks more and more frequently she would leave her shelf early in the morning, and Tommy would find her cuddled under his chin when he awoke. She almost always chose Tommy.
One evening, returning from a convention in Boston, Mildred told Tommy about a lecture which had impressed her. The theme had been that, instead of wishing for powers we do not have, we should do all the good we can with what we have at hand. The speaker had illustrated his point by two references—one from Exodus when Moses, discouraged and downhearted, heard God ask, “What is that in thine hand?” Of course it was the rod, which he struck upon the ground and by means of which the children of Israel were freed; the other being Lincoln, equally downhearted, who heard a voice say to him, “What is that in thine hand?” Of course it was a pen, and history has recorded the lasting power of that pen. Mildred continued to think about it as she went to sleep. In the morning she woke with her hand on the pillow, palm upward, to find Robert asleep in it. The thought flashed through her mind, “What is this in mine hand?” Not the rod of Moses, not the pen of Lincoln, but, in her own small way, quite a power for good. More than one young man, after seeing and knowing Robert, had vowed never to shoot a quail again. Many avenues had been opened leading to interest in and even study of birds and birdlife. And hundreds of people had been entertained and amused by her.
At Thanksgiving, friends in Wellfleet had as guests a man and his wife from Philadelphia who had heard and read so much about Robert that they were very anxious to see her. At that time I had not seen her for several days and was doubtful that I ever would again because she had become so weak. But I explained the situation to Mildred and Tommy, who said I might bring them if I prepared them for seeing her not at her best. I agreed, and the day after Thanksgiving we went, after I did all I could to see that they would not be disappointed. I might as well have saved my breath.
Robert rose to the occasion, greeted them with her unique welcome sounds, chirped conversationally to Mr. Johnson as he held her and, for the last time, was the perfect hostess. In spite of what I had told them, the visitors thought she was beautiful. Her feathers, with their amazing design, looked uncared for to us, but not to the guests. They signed her guest book, one of them commenting after her signature, “A joy to hear and see.” So ended her book except for a tribute later written by Tommy.
The morning of December 2, Tommy found her again under his chin, and let her stay there for some time. She seemed so contented, and so tired. However, she accompanied him into the bathroom as usual, and hopped up on the breakfast table where she was fed. Later that day she cocked her head at the sound of some soft music, flew up on the back of the davenport and swayed and sang with the music as she had not done for several weeks. She wanted to be held a great deal that afternoon, and was put on her shelf early in the evening. There, for the first time in her three and a half years of life, she tucked her head under her wing, and was immediately asleep.
The next morning Mildred had to go to a meeting, and she called me asking if I would take her, adding that Tommy didn’t want to leave Robert, who was still asleep, still with her head under her wing, but definitely sleeping. After I took Mildred home, I bought a steel strongbox, which I lined with soft wool nylon blanket material and left on their doorstep without going in. After lunch my telephone rang. I knew as soon as I heard Mildred’s voice what she had to tell me. She said, “I just want to say one sentence. Robert went finally to sleep with her head still under her wing.”
I could make no reply.
She lies in the little box, in the same position in which she slept, in the section of the patio where she had loved to take her sunbaths and hunt for bugs. She is watched over by a pair of hand-carved stone quail from Japan.
I often think of Mildred’s remark of three years ago when we wondered so many things, among them what the end would be, and she said, “I know one thing, whatever it is—oh how we’ll miss her.” And we do.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Born on Cape Cod at Falmouth, Massachusetts, MARGARET A. STANGER grew up in her pioneer parents’ home in Iowa. With a B.A. from Grinnell College and an M.A. from Columbia University (where she also studied law), Miss Stanger was graduated from Boston Children’s Hospital as a registered nurse. She returned to the Cape to live in Orleans, where she became one of Robert’s closest human friends. Illustrator Cathy Baldwin, another friend and neighbor of Robert’s, graduated from the Rhode Island School of Design.
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COPYRIGHT
A hardcover edition of this book was published in 1966 by J. B. Lippincott Co. It is here reprinted by arrangement with J. B. Lippincott Co.
THAT QUAIL, ROBERT. Copyright © 1966 by Margaret A. Stanger. Illustrations copyright © 1966 by J. B. Lippincott Co. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
First HarperPerennial edition published 1992.
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOG CARD NUMBER 92-52614
ISBN 978-0-06-081246-1
EPub Edition June 2014 ISBN 9780062368195
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