The luckiest bird in the world lives in a wood near Reading, Pa. He popped up out of the tall grass 30 yards in front of me. “Popped” isn’t quite right. These were farm-bred pheasants, well-fed and not much keen on flying. They had been scattered around the 40-odd acres of grass early that morning, before we arrived. This particular bird was one of the more energetic ones, though, and he was up above head height before I’d gotten the gun to my shoulder. I fired off a shot, which comprehensively missed. The bird took off to my right. Tracking

…