Would I have nice neighbors, I wondered, when I moved to Fallbrook 13 years ago? It's a risk one always take when moving into a new area. I soon discovered I had neighbors unlike any I had ever encountered in Los Angles or Orange County, and unlike any in New Orleans.

At first I didn't know how to react when they encroached on my property, day after day. They were surreptitious and fled whenever I confronted them. It took quite a while for me to get used to this, but after a few months I learned that at certain times of the day, I would likely encounter them in specific locations.

The California Quail is the state bird, but I dare say the vast majority of Californians have never seen one. I had seen a pair of Quail anywhere I lived or traveled in California. Suddenly I was living on the edge of a wild grassland area, surrounded by Quail on all sides. As I began to observe and study them, they revealed a character that won deep respect. They are profoundly faithful, both as mates and parents. They mate for life; they love, protect and instruct their young with astonishing fidelity until they reach young adulthood.

I've kept a ledger of remarkable encounters and observations over the years. I learned early that they nested at night in two giant bougainvilleas at the top of the driveway. As they settled down at dusk, I would slip quietly behind a large boulder and listen to their bedtime stories and tales of the day. I heard couples cooing together. I heard chiding and soft lullabies. The sound of fifty quail in a bush settling in for the night is more beautifully tranquil than the nocturnes of John Field and Chopin. On winter nights when I walk up late to the mailbox, I walk quietly by the bougainvilleas, making a gentle cooing sound to identify myself. A few, still awake, reply gently, "You're OK."

I've seen them fight off hawks from their tiny chicks, and chase off ground squirrels encroaching too close to their young. So diligent are they in protecting and instructing their young, I began referring to them as "my little Mormon families."  I put up a feeder, and learned how their eating habits varied according to the season. In the winter, when they come to breakfast as a whole covey, I put out seeds, bang musically on the coffee can and make the "coo-coo-coo-o-o-o" call for breakfast. Then they wait for me to leave. As many as 45 have come up at one time. I keep counts, to gage their propagation. I learned five or six distinct sounds they make, from nervous chatter to mate-calling to the stern admonition of a parent. Once they warned me of a rattlesnake.

I show consideration for them. Whenever I open my back door, close to the feeder, I always knock gently on the door first, to warn them I am coming out. This gives them time to duck into the dense juniper bushes. They are shy and very cautious. I planted rows of shrubs and bushes so they can travel underneath protected from predators along their favorite paths. I avoid certain of their congregating areas at various times of the day. Why should I not? They lived here centuries before I did, and I hope they will inherit it long after I am gone. I think this is unlikely, though. Homo sapiens have so little respect for wildlife. Since getting to know them as a people and developing an appreciation of their culture, I recognize them as special creatures of God. He watches over them. They are Fallbrook's finest neighbors.

One day a male quail flew into my office window and broke its neck. Dismayed, I picked up the warm body, and discovered how heavy and meaty they are, unlike other birds. His dazed mate watched as I did this.

Heavy and meaty, yes, but I would never eat one. The sight of them in a grocery store repulses me. It seems as cannibalistic to me as eating one's pet. To shoot Quail just for blood sport is brutish and barbaric. Bad karma surrounds such barbaric men. They are destined for shame and disgrace. Evil men attack the good and the innocent, but in the end, they destroy themselves.