Having spent a long time observing pheasants I thought I would add my observations to the field of ornithological research.
Firstly the gaudy costume of the male serves a purpose for the species, as does the camouflaged appearance of the hen. By wearing such a gaudy costume the male serves to attract the attention of predators, allowing the hen to escape in the undergrowth with her brood in tow. It is a survival mechanism. But it serves a different purpose also. It declares the regal nature of the bird, and of the sacrifice he makes on behalf of his hens and young. The pheasant is the peacock of the British landscape. A Noble creature.
With regard to the cry of the male, from my observations it would appear to be an involuntary action, rather like our sneezing. I am not suggesting it is a sneeze, but that it is involuntary. The whole of the body convulses when the bird makes this cry and its plumage stands out at peculiar angles. The head is raised and the wings depressed as the cry pours forth from the heart of the bird. The whole body is involved, not merely the vocal chords.
The female does not share in this activity. It is peculiar to the male. The female makes a small warbling sound in the throat with which she calms her brood and speaks of good will and satisfaction at the world around her.
When I lived in Pineridge, on the Findhorn Foundation, during the early 2010s, my patch of grass was visited by a particular cock pheasant in his morning wanderings. The birds have a circuit they follow, in the way that some nomadic people do, surveying the landscape and seeking out food for the day. He proudly parades through the countryside. He eats very little and when a source of food is provided the male often does little more than guard it for his females as they arrive to fill themselves for the good of the brood.
This male was so majestic that I called him the Emperor, in his splendour. One day I saw him cry out. It was as if the sunlight gathered into him and poured out in this single cry, shooting the bright colours of his plumage throughout the surrounding air, in celebration of the Sun itself.
On one occasion he showed me his view of the world. He stood high above the houses and church spires and picked his way through the villages and towns of people, closely observing their activities and moving on. This was not the only occasion when one creature or another has revealed its perspective to me. On one occasion I saw that cows bend their heads to the ground of the Galaxy to taste the grass put there by her. An act of homage. On another it was sheep that showed me their hooves trod that same surface, far above and away from the concerns of mankind. I wondered then at the wisdom of Nature to give these creatures such freedom in their lives of service to humanity at large.
I write all this in response to a post on whatsapp from my neighbours the other day. A 1 minute video was posted from an obviously pleased resident asking us to share in the wonder of this being that had visited her garden that morning. A beautiful cock pheasant. It lead to a discussion – mostly about eating pheasant and the manner in which people liked to prepare it. I reacted badly to this and later apologised for my prejudices but explained it is difficult to keep such a response in check when people are talking about eating your friend.
It is a sad condition of the human race that , if they are meat eaters, the first thought on seeing a creature is to wonder how it tastes and how to cook it. One of the reasons for the lavish sauces that are developed to go with the meat meal is to disguise the source and taste of the food itself. In English we don’t speak of cow, calf, sheep or pig but give them alternative names like beef, mutton and pork. No matter the origins of those words, it demonstrates the discomfort of the English to stuff themselves with animals they have shared their lives with. It takes a long time to lose the hankering for blood that lies on the tongue of the meat eater.