Pheasant

Where we live, there’s a magnificent network of public footpaths and bridleways, allowing everyone to explore the Chiltern Hills. It would be be possible to roam even more widely, if it were not for various signs saying, “PRIVATE – please keep out”. These restrictions are to encourage the breeding of this creature—the pheasant.

I found this one yesterday in the communal car park at the back of our flats. It had clearly suffered in some fight. perhaps with a cat. which had caused loss of its tail feathers, and left it timid and weakened. It was also trapped by the walls and fences. Pheasants are reluctant flyers and need a long unobstructed runway to gain height. I left it some water and wheat grains, its favourite diet. After being given space to recover in peace, and having taken food, it must have regained strength enough to make an exit. It’s the least I could do for a fellow-creature in need.

Landowners take great trouble for pheasants, leaving grain for them in the spring and keeping people away from their breeding grounds. It is all for the sake of shooting parties. The hills often echo to the sound of shotguns.

I’ve eaten pheasant twice in the last few years: one from a clean road-kill, the other flew into an upstairs window and broke its neck. But when I see an animal look at me in fear and pleading, I feel committed to its welfare.