Animals the First.

So - Animals Episode 1.

I feed the birds. I can’t bear to think of them struggling through the winter with those frail little bodies, so I like to give them a hand. But then spring comes along and those in the know tell me it’s most important to carry on feeding them through the breeding period – April to June – because that’s the time when the adult birds are most under pressure. They have hungry mouths to feed. Problem is, there’s no way of knowing that the adults have stopped filling hungry mouths until the hungry mouths turn up on the bird table to fill themselves. Lots of tubby little fledglings flock to the feeding station looking distinctly unsure of the method and protocol, but very cute. What am I supposed to do then? Long story short: I end up feeding them year round. Oh well...

That’s the preamble; now for the serious bit.

During the winter, it’s mostly only the small birds that visit – the sparrows, robins, dunnocks, blackbirds etc. Come the spring, however, and the bigger birds get in on the act. Suddenly I’m inundated with jackdaws, wood pigeons, collared doves, magpies... and PHEASANTS. Oh, the pheasants!

I had one cock bird make occasional visits during the winter. I used to watch him trudging alone and forlorn around the fields that border my house. I felt very sorry for the poor old chap, and bade him welcome to my meagre offerings. He took advantage. Now he turns up about ten times a day with his harem of three hens in tow. They fill the bird table; nothing else can get near. They’re clumsy and tread on the edge of the water bowl, tipping it up and spilling the precious water – often soaking the food in the process. And they don’t take a few nibbles and go away again, like the small birds do. They stand there and eat until everything’s gone. One pheasant will eat as much in ten minutes as would keep the whole population of small birds fed for a couple of hours. I find myself becoming angry with them. Pheasants have the reputation of being the dumbest of birds, and at this time of year they become my enemy.

But then I pull myself up sharply. I reason that it isn’t their fault. They’re just wild creatures doing what wild creatures do. If they know where there’s food, they’re going to come and eat it. They don’t have the money to shop in supermarkets. If I get angry with them, I’m guilty of being dumber than they are. So I stop being angry. I calm down and look on them kindly, knowing that when I make one of my many forays into the garden they will fly away of their own accord. They’re very skittish birds, which isn’t surprising when you consider that their breeding in most places around here is regulated by nice people who want to shoot them.

But maybe I should still consider them my enemy. I’ve heard that a wise man once said something like ‘Value your enemy above all others. He is your greatest teacher.’ Bring it on, pheasants. I’m learning.