Quail sadness

I allowed a parental posting:

Something was wrong. Biscuit was lying by the quail pen instead of inspecting the garden. The pen itself was still. Normally the hurly burley of rush hour would be in full flow. Quails racing around, popping in and out of their house, nibbling food, scavenging the ground and playing.

But not today. The pen was quiet. The garden silent. A blanket of peace had been lowered. Something had changed.

The fencing had been disturbed. Raised from the ground in places, there were large gaps. Big enough for the quails to leave. Big enough for an animal to enter.

The pen was the same but lifeless. The food and water untouched. The little door to the house open. There was no sign of a disturbance. No sign of death. No discarded feathers. No blood. No indication of what had occurred. But all four had gone. The quails had left in the night.

Their maker had claimed them back. They were ours no more. I will miss them.