Grouse Feathers by Burton L. Spiller

Author:Burton L. Spiller
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Derrydale Press
Published: 1989-01-15T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER VIII

WHEN I had the cocksure wisdom of youth I knew exactly what should be done to increase the supply of grouse and woodcock in our coverts, but now that I have rolled up an average mileage on the pathway of life, I am not so egotistical about my wisdom.

Of one thing, however, I am firmly convinced. Back of all the chaos which we call life, beyond the realms of unmeasurable and unfathomable space, in which millions of celestial bodies move with unfailing accuracy, there is some definite and perfect plan. You may call it what you will—coincidence—nature—God. Neither your opinion nor mine can alter a single sequence of it. It is inexorable. When its fitful shadow hovers malignantly close, we shudder at its harshness; and yet it is always just.

No living species can flourish beyond a certain point. A proper balance must be maintained or that species is doomed to extinction. The fact is unalterable—and easily understandable if a moment’s thought is given to the matter.

Let us imagine a secluded pond in which are but two varieties of fish—salmon and smelts. So long as a proper proportion of each is maintained, both thrive; but let the limit of that proportion be exceeded by just one fish of either species, and both are doomed to extinction.

Mankind, through its humanity to the weaklings of the race, is building a Frankenstein monster which may eventually destroy it. Nature, through the brutal law of the survival of the fittest, puts ever-new stamina into its children.

That much I know of the law of life. Like every other living creature, grouse and woodcock are governed by that law. They have met changing conditions for ages and have survived. I am optimistic concerning their future. For the past fifteen years their greatest enemy has been the automobile. For a while I was worried concerning the outcome, but they have survived the crucial test and are on the increase once more. Until some other and newer thing menaces them, their future is assured. With plenty of food and shelter, good health, and not too many natural enemies, it is almost unbelievable how plentiful they will become even after a few years of extreme scarcity.

For me there is no greater mystery than the fact that game birds are ever able to rear broods. There are so many enemies which are ever alert to destroy either the eggs or young, that it seems impossible any should survive.

Jim Crow is an old offender. I hate him. I hate his raucous cry, and I dislike the sly and cunning manner in which he flits silently from tree to tree during the nesting season, his bright and peering eyes ever searching for the succulent eggs or young birds in some poorly hidden nest.

This year I have a special grievance against him. He came to the elm before my house at daybreak one morning this summer and removed from their swinging cradle the entire brood of a pair of Baltimore orioles. He did

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