On a lovely afternoon last week, a clamour broke out around the big oak. The sun was shining on it - leaves still deep green, but clumps of acorns shining yellow green among the other riper brown ones. Suddenly a flight of pigeons flew at the tree, tearing at acorns, breaking off the end twigs as they flapped and struggled. Debris came raining down. Destruction rather then feeding? But, more remarkable, they were soon followed by a small family of jackdaws which nest nearby. Even one magpie joined in. We know that pigeons will gorge on acorns, but the other two? When the rumpus died down, the debris on the grass showed that the latter two types were probably responsible for the pecked and broken acorns, for pigeons swallow them whole.
Was it just a burst of sun that brought on this razzia of plunder. There are stories without end on pigeons with full crops; sometimes so stuffed they can't fly properly. Well. Then there is the story in an old number of the English Field. A shot pigeon had 18 acorns in its crop - some germinating. Did they germinate in the crop? No, because germination takes a few days and food doesn't stay in the crop for that long. Another query. Could acorns cause the bitter taste of some birds when cooked. No, more likely that comes from ivy berries. (Some experts, these.)
Now fishermen are said to be all liars. No, some of them just exaggerate. But here are two shooting stories from, again, a Field anthology of letters. Elizabeth Tate wrote in 1958 that her son, aged 15, was walking past a bird sanctuary when a pigeon flew out. He wrote: "I said to the boy with me, what a lovely shot," and he went through the motions of firing a gun. (He didn't have one.) "The bird circled and then fell to the ground with blood coming from its head."
Mr Edward Millar of Lynwood, Kincardineshire, came in with a better one. He wrote that he would find it hard to believe the boy's story, had not the same happened to him. He was at a shoot where the pheasants came at them over tall beech trees. "I put up my gun, but before I fired, it (the pheasant) swerved and fell dead. No shot was fired by any other gun." He ended: "This is just one of the incredible experiences that can happen during one's shooting days. Mine started in 1891." (This letter, remember, was 1958.)