And Then There Were . . . Twenty-Six

An Informational Post, Of Sorts

So far four of the quail have died. One the morning after we got them, supposedly over-stressed from being too cold. Then when I came home from Tess's this morning I found the other three (supposedly over-stressed from being too hot), laying hard, cold, and motionless on the bedding, their brothers and sisters running over them like roadkill, apparently seeing no need for a funeral.

This temperature thing is turning out to be the most difficult part. Exactly 85° at all times, five degrees over or under and bad things start happening. At least I'm assuming that's what the problem is. Poor dears.

Edit: Another one dead.

On Another Note

Immediacy is gone. She left without a trace of where to be found again. Even though I never spoke to her, this unexpected disappearance makes the writer's soul in me feel slightly robbed.

Good luck with your life, Immediacy, and love, and all that other bullshit that makes us drink too much and eat chocolate ice cream.