Pheasant Extravaganza

Recently I wrote about Dutch pheasants which in snowy fields remain off limits for hunters. Their Belgian counterparts seem reckless any day.

Especially in my cousin's garden in mysterious Flemish river territory, which is an eden for birds. There is a natural swimming pool and food dangling from young trees.

Behind wall-size windows I was having coffee with two perfect bird spotters: my cousin's oldest boys. It was hard not to get tucked into the spectacle of birds landing and taking off. A few pheasants were seen in a distant meadow.

And then I nearly fell of my chair. There was "Hippoliet". "A big pheasant", my cousin's oldest son F. explained, and a regular visitor. Suddenly a bird of turkey-size proportion was seen near the water. A bird with a limp, but unmistakenly of regal demeanor.

With his parents' camera, F. deftly shot pictures. After I'd left, the super size specimen of fowl had made its way over to the terrace, so that the spectators suddenly had front row seats.

Thanks, F.!

This picture is the perfect interludium, as this blog is briefly moving its tents east of eden.