Nesting Quails in My Backyard

An explosion of air startled me as I watered a backyard pot teeming with aloe vera plants. I had inadvertently disturbed a Gambel's quail hidden in the foliage, triggering her into a sudden flight. When I discovered her clutch of eleven tiny eggs nestled below the intertwining aloe arms, I immediately directed my garden hose into the cacti growing in some neighboring pots. Over the next four weeks I endeavored to keep the nest off limits to everyone except the mother quail.

Initially I was concerned that the quail had completely abandoned my backyard and, subsequently, her nest. However by the next day I observed a female quail periodically walking along the wall above the potted aloes. And then a day or two later, when I poked my nose a little too closely into the plants, I scared the mother bird away yet again. A short time after, I thankfully saw a single female quail, apparently the mother, return to the area.

The first encounter began right after Easter, in late April, a season when I was accustomed to seeing large coveys of adult Gambel's quails in my neighborhood. Groups sometimes included up to a dozen individuals. It was also a time when I started observing lone pairs of the birds comprising one male and one female each. Recently at Phoenix's Desert Botanical Garden, I had even witnessed two different parental groups with as many as a dozen chicks in each. In both of those instances, a male quail figured prominently in the organization of the family unit; he called, corralled, and chased the little baby puffballs as much as the female.

However in my own backyard, it looked like a single-mother household was forming. I only occasionally spotted an unattached male quail strutting and calling from the high wall that surrounded two sides of my yard. Sometimes he perched atop or within the lysilomo tree as he vocalized, but he never approached the nest in the large pot.

Meanwhile I minded the nest in my own way. I turned off a spotlight that shined brightly on the aloe pot whenever I turned on my garden lights at night. I had scared the mother quail off more than once with my relentless curiosity and didn't want to give her any excuse for not caring for her clutch. Although Phoenix was experiencing beautiful May weather, I also chose to hold cocktail parties inside, leaving the patio in peace and quiet for the birds.

Even without me frightening her away, the mother quail regularly left the nest. Perhaps after she had foraged for sustenance, I spotted her hopping down into and adjacent raised planter bed and following a covert path back into the aloe pot. Eventually I was able to peer through the mesh of green aloe arms and discern the bird, in gray, buff, and chestnut colors along with a small patch of white stripes, blocking any view of the eggs. I could finally confirm the mother quail was regularly sitting on her clutch.

I had researched that a quail does not lay all those eggs in one day. The several days that it takes to produce such a large quantity, like the eleven in my yard, have no effect on the timing for when each will hatch. Rather, they all start incubating together when the mother decides to start keeping them warm.

During these weeks, another pair of quails started visiting the yard, investigating possible grottos in the thick elephant food clusters that bordered much of my landscape. I was sure they weren't responsible for the eggs in my container as on one occasion that original mother showed up at the same time. Alas, she was still spouseless.

A couple of days before the four-week anniversary of my discovery, I started hearing more and more "kaa"s from multiple quails. That house-hunting pair were partially responsible for the calls, but it was also the clutch's mother. She was apparently calling from the pot of aloes. Soon a lone male quail also started making frequent calls from the trees or from behind my backyard's walls. The next day, the mother quail appeared agitated, not only making lots of calls but repeatedly leaving the pot. She would then trot around it in circles before heading back into the foliage.

After days of restraint, I couldn't resist peering into the nest. I also couldn't contain my joy when I observed several chicks scurrying near the hen! I had just read that Gambel's quails will call out to their unhatched eggs, encouraging their offspring to start pecking through the shells. Clearly the offspring were listening. Yet counting a couple of unhatched eggs, I noted some birds still had some catching up to do.

When I peeked in again later in the day, I could see an egg starting to hatch, some feathers poking out from behind a kind of door formed at the egg's surface. The mother quail didn't seem disturbed by my intrusions. By then she was crouched away from the nest, in a more open part of the aloe habitat, wings spread out, almost certainly covering all her hatchlings.

Just a few weeks or even days earlier she would have abruptly fled in a flurry of noise when I got too close. Was she finally accustomed to my presence? I doubt it. Much more likely she was determined to stand between her helpless, growing brood and whatever threat she faced.

The following morning a male Gambel's quail took a pointed interest in the activity in the pot. He peered down into the cluster of aloe veras from the wall above before gliding to the ground and jumping into the container. The female darted in and out of the pot changing spaces with the male. And they both kept "kaa"-ing away. By mid-morning I watched a tiny hatchling scurrying on the brick pavers below the pot. It was the first chick to leave the nest!

Within the next few hours each of the baby birds made their way from the eighteen-inch high pot down to the ground. Elephant food rimming the container eased the climb or fall. The entire brood scampered across my lawn, the wobbly chicks struggling to meander through blades of grass just as tall as them. The parents continued their calls while the offspring opened their mouths to vocalize sounds I couldn't discern from behind my closed sliding-glass doors.

Within a few minutes, a last, dazed chick materialized from behind the pot and joined the activity. Moments later, the entire brood headed along my side yard to a gate leading into my neighborhood. The parents flew up and over the wall while the chicks scurried through the three-inch opening under the gate. I remained in the house for the next hour in case they all decided to return to the nursery.

When I finally ventured outside, I looked into the nest and at the eggshells: there were no unhatched eggs. I hadn't managed to get a final count of the chicks because they were in a constant state of motion while either clumped together or ranging three or four feet apart. The head count could have easily been eleven, so all present and accounted for. A month-long Gambel's quail mission ended in success.