We had the partridge. Now all we needed was the pear tree. At least that’s what I thought until Liam pointed out that the big fat bird wandering around our small garden to feed with the bully-boy crows was, in fact, a pheasant. Not as colourful as our usual pleasant pheasant with its red, gold and blue livery, but a pheasant all the same.
I’m told that pheasants aren’t the sharpest beaks in the aviary. I had this one practically eating out of my hand. A very friendly pheasant it was. Friendly enough to hop straight into the pot if I’d asked nicely. Friendly but dumb.
Lovely nature in your tiny terrain. Don’t kill it, word would get out.
We’re giving it sanctuary. One claw outside our garden and someone will shoot it. That’s what they do in these parts! 😉
Woah. I thought you people didn’t like guns.
Generally we don’t but we live in huntin’, shootin’, fishin’ territory, all licensed in a very British way, of course 🙂
Please help keep him safe. Lovely bird.
We’ll try but it’s a jungle out there! 😉
It’s a pheasant hen – more prized for the pot (or the roasting tin) than the colourful pheasant cock as it’s more tender. I know, I know… stereotypes and all that, but it happens to be true. So keep an especially watchful eye over her!
We’ll do our best!