I can tell it's cold out there this morning. Nothing to do with the white frost on the ground, or the frost glistening from every leaf, twig, blade of grass. Oh no. It's my poor male pheasant. Poor thing. He comes every morning for a feed. This morning all the feathers on his back & tail are covered in a white rime of ice. He's stuffing his face with peanuts and pecking at a fatball to get some energy into himself to warm up.