CLEAR AND PHEASANT DANGER

Cycling brings Norman closer to nature. Very close indeed

From my front porch I can see the surrounding North Downs. If I squint, I can also see a farm that breeds pheasants for its annual shoot, and every now and again when the shoot begins, some pheasants invariably escape. A pleasant side effect for my wife and I is that we now have wild pheasants in our garden. They are beautiful, lively birds and can become quite friendly. We have a resident male and female. Sadly, we never see any chicks. I reckon the local fox takes care of that. How anyone can justify killing such beautiful creatures is beyond me. I cannot link the word ‘sport’ with killing.

Anyhow, one early spring day not too long ago, I was up at 5am for a ride through the Surrey countryside. I always cycle at this time of day. There are no cars on the road. Also, this early in the morning the sun is still low in the sky and when cycling on a westerly course, the shadows of the bike and me stretch many metres ahead. I don’t know why more cyclists don’t take advantage of these early spring days. It’s glorious. The roads are clear and you can ride on A roads without any hassle. I can also finish my ride and be home well before lunch.

There I am, on an A road heading out towards Guildford with the sun on my back and my mind in its usual riding mode of freewheeling thoughts. All of a sudden, a woman steps off the pavement into the road about a metre ahead of me. I hadn’t noticed her before she does this. The only reason I do not collide with her is because, rather than swerve into the road, where an oncoming motorist could do me damage, I swerve and hit the pavement with quite a bump. Although I manage to stay upright, I am not a happy bunny, but before I can begin my rant, the woman does the most unlikely thing: she thrusts a pheasant into my arms. Instinctively, as one does when something is offered, I stretch out my arms and accept the bird.

It is a male pheasant, a beautiful bird. The males have an overall brown colour with red and green running up and around the neck. The low sun catches the feathers. Iridescence is a gift of the sun and the feathers sparkle like jewels in a necklace. It lies docile, unmoving.

The woman says she has just seen a car hit the poor bird and on examining it found that it had a fractured thigh. “Take it to a vet,” I reply. But no, she is adamant there is no way that setting a broken thigh of a wild bird will allow it to survive. “You will have to kill it,” she says. I am unsure about her diagnosis, conclusion and remedy. While I’m medically trained, my expertise doesn’t cover birds, never mind a bird with a fractured femur. I try to recall what, if anything, I can remember about birds. I know that body temperature can vary from about 40 to 43°C depending upon activity, and that at night body temperature can drop below zero. I would suspect that the bird must be in shock because of the accident and broken bone, but there is no way I can even begin to think of measuring temperature.

It is also unfortunate for pheasants that somebody a long time ago classified them as game birds. In other words, they are great to shoot out of the sky.

I wonder whether there was a pheasant vote on that characterisation. The bird is passive and makes absolutely no effort to get out of the embrace. I consult Google on the phone. I read that a bird with an injury that stops it from flying or foraging should be humanely dispatched. I am still unsure. I’ve tried throughout my life not to kill anything. I certainly cannot carry the bird on my bike and I have no idea where the nearest vet might be. When I suggest to the women that she should take it to a vet she states she is out walking and in any case the bird will not survive. I take another close look at the leg. I feel a bit of bone and conclude the bird has a compound fracture of the femur. Still I hesitate. The brilliance of the colouring catches my eye once again. The sun is really not helping matters.

I finally decide to put the bird out of its misery. I hand it back without a word and continue on my way, in utter shock about the past few minutes. For many a kilometre I ride into the long shadow that stretches before me. I still have regrets, even today.

Cycling outdoors has too many upsides to mention, but there are always flipsides. It brings us much closer to nature than being cocooned in a car ever can. And just sometimes, a bit too close...