The Threats of Pheasants

If you have been following my blogs for any amount of time, you have undoubtedly picked up on the fact that there are no skeletons in my closet, I don’t take myself very seriously, and I have no problem sacrificing my personal privacy for a good cause (like seeking justice or a good laugh). Now that my blog is getting a decent amount of attention, it is also beginning to draw a minor amount of backlash from a morally questionable segment of the population who would love nothing more than to shut me up.  The threats have been minimal.  I admit, that almost disappoints me.  I always enjoy turning the light on a human cockroach or two.  But every new entry comes the risk of offending another wackadoodle so that may again come to fruition in the future.

But I’m no stranger to death threats.  As a matter of fact, there’s another population that put a hit out on me years ago and have dispatched their thugs to bump me out a couple times.  No, it’s not the mob a group of petty felons.  They are a far more menacing threat.

They are pheasants and they are out to kill me.

I know it sounds crazy, but it’s true!  Those feathered bastards have been trying to do me in for years.  It first started when I was seventeen.  It was a beautiful summer day in Michigan and I was driving home from school in my first car-a 1977 Mustang fastback I named Jerome.  In spite of the age and miles, Jerome was all original-including a sparkling white vinyl interior and zero air conditioning.  So I had the windows rolled down halfway.  I wanted to be cool but I didn’t want my hair messed up.

I was just a few miles away from my house when I heard a loud ferocious burping noise coming from the left.  I turned my head just in time to see a green, ringed Jurassic football fly full speed into the driver’s side door.  I came face-to-face with the beaked monster, his head flew right into my window! Had my window been rolled down any farther, he would have flown straight into my car, landed on the passenger side, and surely eviscerated me!

I assure you the attacks are completely unprovoked. I had never even gone hunting much less hurt a pheasant. I may have dined on a furry neighbor or two as a child (I did grow up in the midwest afterall) but I hardly think that justifies taking me out in such a violent manner.

The next time occurred many years later in a completely different part of the country.  I was driving my family to a pow-wow being held out in the sticks on the Kansas/Oklahoma border.  We were running a little behind and the ex was already griping so I put the pedal to the metal in hopes of making better time. I was in the process of deflecting his industrial strength complaints when a menacing green and tan mass flew out into the street.  I had just enough time to center my car and lay on the gas, effectively dispatching my attacker and reducing him to an explosion of feathers. With the ex's mouth agape but silent for the moment, I drove on and over the body. 

I know there are other animals that also play havoc on drivers every year like the occasional dog, raccoon, possum and deer. I too have swerved to miss a wandering dog or cat, skunk or squirrel. I have even dodged snakes, tarantulas and armadillos. Encounters with these creatures are purely accidental. They don't mean to stray into your path, they are simply the victims of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. 

But those pheasants  are another matter. My buddies at the Fish and Wildlife Department say I had a better chance of running into a mountain lion (another animal they deny lives in the area) than a pheasant. So that could mean only one thing: the little bastard made the cross-country trek to take me out. Just what I would expect from a devil-bird!

I'm Jennifer Beck and I'm Jenuinely Jennifer. 

Writer, Researcher and pheasant fear-er!