Quinton

Quinton was a quail who lived all alone at the mouth of an abandoned gold mine. He was really a happy guy except for the living alone part. He pressed flowers to pass the time and was really most excellent at it: cards, book marks, paperweights and what-have-you.
He ate tender morsels he scratched up from the ground around the tunnel entrance, and ran around catching rain drops on those days it did rain. Rain didn’t come often. He ran around like a chicken with its head cut off when it rained. Sometimes he’d drink forty drops or more and pretend to be very drunk. Quinton couldn't care less; no one ever saw him because he lived up there by himself.
Once a year he’d head down the mountain for supplies. There was a little quail village where he could get anything he wanted on his good looks alone.
Okay, he had to trade his pressed flowers, but this was of no consequence to Quinton since he would just make more next year. Way up there, flowers were in no short supply.
Take something from where it is abundant to where it is rare and profit follows.
He was talking to Dan, a quail (as opposed to J. D. Quayle) who thought he might by mayor one day, when Quinton’s x-mother-in-law passed by.
Instantly they were fighting, feathers and wings everywhere, while exchanging many extra nasty expletives. I don’t know if you’ve ever seen quails go at it but it’s never pretty. Don’t get your shorts in a knot over the male on female violence thing either: these birds play by their own set of funky rules, males, females: true equals. It’s a size thing.
Dan got them calmed down and separated but not before Quinton had pulled out just about all her tail feathers.
“Get out of here, you stupid bastard,” Dan exclaimed. “She’ll sick the whole town on you.”
“It’d be a toss up who they’d attack first.”
He had a point, she wasn’t miss congeniality quail, but Dan shooed him off anyway. Quinton took his oversized bag of provisions and was off. He came to the tunnel entrance with a huff a good six hours later.
He set up the chessboard he had just gotten and played himself constantly.
“Well, one thing good about it,” Quinton said finishing yet another game, “is that I never lose.”