The return of the quails

The quails are back. I went to the quail shop to collect them.

There were loads of quails. Many sizes. Many shapes. Many colours. But no spotted ones. Well not proper spotted ones. Not like my raincoat.

I couldn’t see my quails. But the man knew where they were. He put them in our box. We drove back home.

The quails were back. They sped into their new home. It’s much bigger than their old home. It has a bigger fence. They won’t be going anywhere without asking M first.

The quails looked different. There was a brown one, only one white one and two were brown and white. They were not the same. Their colour didn’t match. Things were not quite right. I scratched my head. Then I knew. They had changed their feathers or maybe dyed their hair like M.

I looked again. They were smaller than before. But they were running around like they used to. Busy, busy, busy. Rush hour was back. They may be smaller. They were still my quails. They must have shrunk in the rain. My quails were back. I had missed them. As had Biscuit. She sat by them all evening. She kept them safe.