Witless Pheasants
Pheasants, beside partridges, are stupid mothers: nor have young pheasants anything like the common sense of young partridges. The mother partridge is the most careful mother, and by example soon teaches her young ones to use their wings. One hears the old partridges calling all through the day to their young; but the little pheasants must fight their own battles with less encouragement, and look after themselves. One may see a hen pheasant leading her brood towards a dike, over which it is obvious they are not strong enough to pass. But without a look to see if they follow her or not, she flits across; then, finding that a few are with her, having managed the passage, she hurries on, as if she had not a thought for those left behind. They do their best to follow, only to fall into the water, in which they are drowned, or, if the dike is dry, to become exhausted in their vain efforts to scale the steep sides.
Nature's Laws
Yet it is hardly fair to compare pheasants to partridges. The difference in their habits of life makes it necessary that partridges should learn to use their wings more quickly than pheasants. They will fly when no larger than starlings, but pheasants grow as big as full-grown partridges before making much use of their wings. Partridges mature the more quickly: hatched in mid-June they are nearly full grown by September, while pheasants, born in May, are still in their baby stage in October. Then the habit of the partridges to roost in coveys on the ground fosters the instinct to spring into the air and fly on the first sign of danger, all in a covey acting as one bird for mutual protection. There is some little excuse for the young pheasants that butt into wire with such foolish persistency—they are so near to the wire that their legs have no chance to launch them fairly into the air. While the desire of a pheasant, on meeting wire outside a wood, is to pass through into the covert, the idea of the partridge is to turn about, and fly back to the fields whence it came. The effect of a line of wire-netting on wild creatures seems to be that they imagine they are enclosed on all sides. A half-grown leveret cantered before us for quite two miles alongside netting to the left of him; only after covering this distance did it seem to dawn upon him that by turning to the right he might go his way to freedom.
The Partridge June
What are the ideal conditions for partridges? First, an old-fashioned April—growing weather. Then an old-fashioned May, with blue skies and genial sunshine, to be followed by a June without a drop of rain that would hurt a fly by day, with occasional warm sprayings of rain by night, to help on the insect-supply for the chicks, and to keep the soil just as partridges like it when scratching for insects, but not wet enough to clog their feet. The ideal June—the partridge June—has warm nights and fine sunny days, without too much scorching sunshine. The fine weather must go on during the first part of July in the interests of the later-hatched chicks; and if August can behave as it should, so much the better—but the most important thing is a partridge June. Nothing can make amends to the partridges for a wet, cold June; for nothing can bring their dead chicks to life.