I was out picking tomatoes and strawberries this evening, and doing a bit of garden cleanup. The dogs, Annie and Otto, were chasing quail through the squash patch. I wasn't concerned about it, as they aren't the fastest little fat dogs around, and the quail had plenty of cover in that jungle of vines. It wasn't until I was bent over the strawberry bed, and a little puffball came running right across my foot, that I realized the quail had their tiny babies in the garden. I turned around to find Otto, and he was standing there with a dead baby bird in his mouth. I pried it loose, grabbed him by the collar and tried to drag him toward the house. On the way, I noticed Annie chewing on something, and sure enough, she had consumed most of another tiny quail. I finally pulled both dogs into the house, yelling at Mr. Granny to get the pet door locked. Then I had to go back out and place the two little bodies in a container for burial.
I gave the quail time to gather the surviving babies and move them out of the yard before letting the dogs back out. Annie immediately ran out to the area near the strawberries, and picked up something in her mouth. I made her drop it, and it was another baby bird part. I don't know if it was from the bird she'd had earlier, or if they killed more than two.
It wasn't the dogs' fault, they were doing what animals do. It was my fault for not paying more attention to the adult quail. I should have realized he would have flown out of the garden if he hadn't been trying to protect his young. It was a sad day for the quail mom and dad, and a sad day in Granny's garden.