This is Part 2 of a story that began here back in August- you might want to reread Part 1 now, then carry on….

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After scattering the bird feed, it was time to refresh their water. The challenge was to face away from the birds when in or near their pen, reaching behind myself slowly for the filthy water feeder, then stealthily carrying it out of the pen without triggering any Pheasant Panic Broken Necks. Once outside the pen, I re-latched the door and slowly began retracing my steps to the pasture fence gate. Freedom!

Now that the birds were no longer focused on me, I was free to break into a run across the wide expanse of lawn, all the way to the water spigot on the side of the house. There I disassembled the two-part galvanized contraption and hosed it down, using a stick to scrape off any stuck-on bird poop. When everything was reasonably clean, I refilled the base with just enough water to last the birds a whole day, but not so full that it would slop all over my legs as I lugged it back across the lawn, through the gate, and into the pasture. From there, the slow-motion encore commenced, tiptoeing awkwardly to the enclosure with the now-heavy water pail, turning around to step backwards into the pen, carefully closing the door, then placing the water feeder in the usual spot behind me so neither birds nor I would later be confused. All the while humming to calm us all down.

As scary as these birds were to me at the time, they were still beautiful, exotic, mysterious. I had no idea that I was feeding the pheasant so that they would eventually feed us.

Which reminds me of a story from the early Chicken Era when we raised free-range bantam chickens in the back yard. One day Mom was standing at the kitchen sink, looking out the window, admiring the chickens as they strutted and scratched around the back garden terrace. Mom knew slaughter time was fast approaching, and thinking she was alone in the kitchen, she mused aloud, “I’m sure gonna miss those chickens…” My brother David, about eight at the time, had just walked into the kitchen and without skipping a beat he said, “Where you going, Ma?” Ah, kids.

The final pheasant fable is this: Sometimes humans just don’t know how to cooperate with the innate wisdom of the natural world. My family proved that fact repeatedly. For some reason Mom and Dad didn’t trust the pheasants to sit on their own nests, so the eggs were taken and moved to an incubator set up on a ping-pong table in the cellar of our house. It was a pretty simple design with heat lamps suspended above the rows and rows of eggs propped up on beds of straw. Standing guard over the eggs sounded like fun at first, but there were many moments of utter boredom preceding that first sign of a crack. Even Mom got into watching the eggs with us, a ritual that grew in suspense each day. The admonition “Do Not Touch” was on little cards around each side of the table. “Hands off” was not difficult when they just looked like stupid eggs, still not difficult when the first crack lines appeared, but when the baby birds were strong enough to push up a little flap of broken shell, it was too much for Mom to handle. The process was excruciatingly slow, and every once in a while Mom just could not take the suspense any longer. Then she would help by gently tucking her pinky fingernail under the shell-flap, loosening it just the tiniest bit, just to help the baby bird that was struggling so hard to hatch.

The problem was, every bird she helped died.

Nature is way smarter than we are. The birds needed that time to strengthen their bones and neck muscles by pushing on their shell house doors, then resting, then pushing again later. They needed to hatch in their own time, not our time. They had everything they needed until our unsolicited help was given.

Which just proves an expression I heard years ago:

 “Unsolicited advice (or help) is just thinly veiled criticism.”

Harsh but true, and in the case of the pheasant chicks, it was deadly.

If we lead with respect, and ask before offering assistance or advice, we have time to remember that we all have access to the same Universal Wisdom. Most of the time folks are just looking for a loving, listening ear. If they want or need more, I can help them figure that out after I have been asked, not before. In the meantime, I can offer them a cup of tea as I cheer them on during their shell-cracking adventures.

After all, it’s only a matter of time before our roles are reversed, and it’s my turn to crack a spiritual-growth shell or two.

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