Remember Quentin, sole survivor of a flock of over forty quails that used to wander through the yard? It has been a few years since the flock has dwindled due to predators, chemical lawns, and habitat encroachment.

Quentin has been lonely, coming each spring to look for what he must have thought was a kindred spirit looking back at him through the window by our front door.

It has been a brutal winter. Really brutal. I thought for sure Quentin did not survive this one.

What a surprise I had when I saw him  at our front door, trying in vain to look through the smudged glass for his reflection buddy.

I take no responsibility for the messy window. It’s all Emma’s fault. Whenever the Captain leaves in his truck, Emma runs to the window to watch him leave and her spaniel noseprints are forever on the bottom part of the window.

So, sorry, Quentin, you are out of luck if you had hoped to see anything in the window.

He flies up onto the railing to think about it. He saw his lady love in that very window last year but she didn’t want to come out to play. Now she’s not even there. What to do?

Quentin turns to face me as I take his picture, showing off a perfect white collar that frames his face.

But I have no answers for him in his quest for a mate.

“I might as well go look elsewhere,” he mutters. “Maybe I’ll grab a few seeds from under the birdfeeder first, but what a downer. I was sure she’d be here.”

“You’d think she’d wait for me by the window. I know she lives in there. (Sigh….) Well, maybe after dinner … or tomorrow morning….”