PHOTO PROMPT © Jean L. Hays
“It isn’t armor that makes one a good kitchen-window sentry,” he instructed the younglings during a quick peck break.
“Is it the blade?” piped Pepper and stretched a leg to critically eye a very immature spur.
The bird clucked fondly at the chick. Always the feisty one, Pepper was. Last to emerge from the egg but first in every yard-race since.
“No, Son,” the quail stretched tall. “It is all in the plume. Once it grows, hold it high, bob it well.”