There is distinct loss of status in admitting that one has been held hostage at home by a marauding pheasant. But as ever in the world of Balintore, the unbelievable is the reality.
There was no escape, as I tried to leave the path at a 90 degree angle it would run to block my exit, parading backwards and forwards in front of me with its chest puffed up.
I was looking for something to defend myself with, and after what seemed like an eternity, I located a longish stick. As the bird came in to attack, I held it at bay with the end of the stick. However, it came at me from different angles and I had to wield the stick like an epee, to stop it coming too close. I was not sure I could keep this up. I continued down the drive, but the pheasant gave no slack, mirroring my every move. The fear and adrenaline had kicked in, and the stick was becoming less and less effective as the bird became bolder
I really did not want to hit the pheasant with the stick - well it was more of a twig actually. Eventually, I had to swipe the stick with a degree of force to keep the bird away. It looked a little surprised but continued to come in for the kill, like the terminator on a relentless mission. My stick had disturbed the bird's feathers so it looked rather bedraggled on that side.
It was locked in mortal combat with me all the way down the castle drive - this is 1km long! Why was it not giving up? It then continued its attack along the road which goes past the castle, still homing in on its target, and it was only when I got past Balintore House that the distance between us increased and it disengaged.
I knew I could not cope with this every day, and wrote a letter of complaint in my head to the local estate during the remainder of the walk. Given that they had stocked the grounds with this evil creature, it was their responsibility to deal with it.
The following day, I spotted some bread on the stone walls either side of the front door, so asked friend of Balintore Simon who was working at the castle, what this was all about. "I'm feeding the pheasant." he said, "It's really friendly!". I lost it at that stage and exclaimed rather too forcefully "Don't feed that creature!".
Anyhow, thankfully I have not had an unpleasant pheasant encounter again, but have spotted several pheasants who turn their evil eye towards me during my daily walk. I am of course maintaining eye contact and wondering "Is that him, and will he attack again?".
When male pheasants fight, they are so engrossed that they are oblivious to everything else. I recall a pair fighting on the castle drive. I had to stop my car, and I knew if I had not stopped I would simply have run both of them over.
Obviously, the pheasant was in this attack mode with me, and nothing would have deterred it. I suspect even if I had hit it really hard with the stick, it would not have stopped. Was it the yellow coat I was wearing i.e. a bit of a orangey pheasant colour? The only other explanation was that it was trying to mate with me, but I do not think his intentions were amorous. Some years back, a Spanish visitor to Balintore Castle got attacked by a pheasant a number of times. It was pretty serious. She was wearing a red jumper.
To capture the essence of something, one often plays the three words game. For a pheasant, these are beautiful, stupid and er, delicious. :-) They truly are the stupidest creatures and have the least road awareness of all: less than a baby bunny - and that is saying a lot. :-)
Amazingly enough, sheep though classically stupid, have pretty good road sense. They are not great at getting out of your way in the best direction, but they do at least try to get out of the way. Pheasants virtually stand in the middle of the single track roads round the castle saying "kill me now".
The "pheasant as terminator" illustration was the best I could do with an AI image generation engine (fodor.com) before my free trial ran out.



















