It starts very early, before dawn, you get up in what feels like the middle of the night, eat your breakfast with blurry eyes before the rooster crows. Then you study your map one last time and gather up your flashlights, which is very important so you can spot the best birds in the dark. Then you hit the road at a time of the morning when there is very little traffic. The world is still dim, the atmosphere in your vehicle is crisp and cool and fun is in the air.
You arrive at the meet, usually at a fairground on the outskirts of town. Cars are everywhere, parked willy-nilly all over the grounds. Some of them are dealer’s cars, some are buyers only. Only God Himself can tell the difference because there is no formal organization. You high-step over the dewy grass and your feet crunch on the gravel paths as you strain your eyes in the early dawn, seeing very little but hearing plenty.
Roosters are crowing unusual duets and trios, ducks are quacking from every direction. There is a really loud screaming sound coming from somewhere which really sends cold fingers down your spine until you get to it and realize that it’s coming from a large parrot who is apparently unhappy at his lot in life. As you turn around you catch sight of a Llama being led around by its owner. Yes, a Llama. You see, there are more than just birds at game bird swap meets.
There are miniature cattle, horses and goats. Baby sheep, kittens, puppies, and birds of all feathers. You hear a shout and a flutter of wings behind you and you spin around to see two wild pheasants break free from their cage and hit the open sky, rejoicing in their second chance at freedom. You can smell manure from the livestock pens, you hear a loud quacking and look to the right and you see a little girl sitting in a lawn chair with a female mallard dancing on her shoulder. She smiles and tells you it’s a pet. You wish you’d brought your camera.
You admire the chickens, fancy pheasants, peafowl, guinea hens, and ducks. You see geese of every imaginable variety including Canadian honkers. You look down at your feet and discover a discarded peacock feather, which soon has a new home, sticking out of your hatband, or purse. You walk along the path, sometimes on the grass, sometimes gravel, peering into cages, boxes and corrals with your flashlight. Then you find the bird you want, and you ask, “is it female?” Always, always, that’s the first question you ask.
Usually the birds are young ones, too young yet to sex by sight, so you ask. The dealers hate that question because they know everyone wants the female birds rather than the males. Sometimes they get rude and tell you that you are not paying enough to get anything but straight run. That’s when you walk away and let them stew without making a sale.
You see the same dealers each time, each year. You greet them, they greet you. They recognize you, see you coming down the path and they start barking out the delights of their wares. They remember which kind of bird you bought last time and they have three more just like her to offer you this time. The male birds are the ones you usually see being carted off hanging upside down by their feet, supper for a large family. The newest family pet is the bird that you see being carried carefully, hugged like a kitty cat in the arms.
You spend an hour or two, exploring, looking, buying, thinking about buying. Then you drive back home, happy, thinking about your new acquisitions. And you hear them in the back of the car, apprehensive, wondering if they’re going to a good new home, or if they are going to die in the next minute. Scary time for a bird….until they get home and are released into the barnyard with the other birds. Then it’s happy days are here again.
