Release The Pheasants, Unleash The Children

Rambunctious laughter burst from the crowd circling the arena. Boots stomped and cowboy hats danced to shrill whistles and cheers as the stands shook with the audience’s enthusiasm. The boisterous noise was only rivaled by the bouts of joyfully terrified screams flung from the whirling carnival rides nearby. Clouds drifted lazily over the fuss, carelessly blocking out the sunshine as they crossed the vast prairie sky.

Down in the arena, ankle deep in the churned dirt, a line of children stretched across the ring. They ranged in age from four to six but each of them clutched a butterfly net. And every single one of them was eyeing the boxes on the far side of the stadium. The crowd shushed as the organizers by the boxes and those by the kids signaled the ringmaster. It was time.

Calmly the men by the boxes lifted door slots on the sides. Little brown-feathered heads appeared, followed quickly by the rest of the pheasant. Daintily stepping across the soil the birds peered across the arena at the kids. For a breathless minute the two groups eyed each other.

BYOONKK. The siren blared and the kids exploded into action. They streamed across the arena, practically flying in their youthful energy. Dirt sprayed, boots sprang free of feet. The pheasants froze as the mass thundered toward them, then they too took their cue and scattered in all directions.

Around me people shouted the names of their little champions and threw out words of encouragement for all the participants. The children started swatting after the birds. In seconds it was chaos. Children were sprinting, jogging, standing and sitting where they’d fallen. I tried to pinpoint which child would net a pheasant first.

“There!” screamed a woman. I followed her outstretched hand to a corner of the arena. Among the fluttering nets and red faces was a little boy dwarfed by his cowboy hat. He was holding his net close and as it wiggled about I realized he’d caught a bird.

“Run, run runrunRUUNNNN,” shrieked the woman who’d spotted him. The boy glanced up and dashed for the small chalk circle where the judges waited.

The audience’s noise continued to crescendo. A few stands to the right, a group of what I could only assume was the boy’s clan, outmatched everyone’s cheers as the boy streaked over the white line and presented his catch.

Soon the siren sounded again as the crowd shared one last cheer for the kids.

I sat back and again let the sunshine wash over me. Maybe it was time for lunch.