Smith: A Thanksgiving pardon, an unexpected bond

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Wauzeka - Henry is a wild game bird. He is plump. 

Many other animals, including many humans, see him as dinner. As he struts along a grassy strip, just feet from a gaggle of two-legged onlookers, his position could have been perilous. But as we celebrate an American holiday famous for fowl consumption, no bird is safer from the carving knife.

“Henry’s off limits, that’s for sure,” said Mike Mullikin of Wauzeka. 

Henry is a ruffed grouse that has lived for at least two years on the farm of Mike and his wife, Julie, outside Wauzeka.

It’s tradition for the president to spare a turkey this time of year at the White House. Henry’s tale of pardon has evolved over the last 26 months here in Wisconsin’s coulee country.

Mike and Julie raise beef cattle and grow crops on their farm, which has been in the family since the 1940s. Mike, 63, grew up on the property, 400 rambling acres of hilltops and ravines in the Wisconsin River valley. In his youth, he often hunted grouse on the farm. There were days, he said, he'd flush 80 to 100 birds, and bring home several for a family meal.

In recent decades, however, grouse numbers have declined in southwestern Wisconsin, primarily due to aging forests. That's partly why Mullikin was surprised in September 2014 when he encountered a grouse on a back ridge at his property. Mullikin had driven to the spot on a tractor and cut some firewood. The grouse came out of the woods that slope into a ravine.

"He stood about 30 feet away but didn't fly when I moved," Mullikin said. "I thought he might be injured."

Mullikin returned the next day to continue his wood cutting. When he took a break and sat on a log, the bird reappeared. To Mullikin's astonishment, the grouse came over and jumped on the other end of the log.

"I couldn't help but smile," Mullikin said. "I guess I knew I had a new friend."

Regular, not ordinary

The relationship built over the weeks and months that followed. Mullikin tabbed the bird Henry.

Mullikin began to visit the spot just to look for the grouse. In nearly every instance, the bird would come out. Eventually, Mullikin sweet talked the wild animal to sit on his hand. 

Mullikin has never fed Henry. "He's a regular wild grouse, is what he is," Mullikin said. "He knows what he needs to eat to survive."

Regular maybe, but not ordinary.

On a recent fall day, I was privileged to see Henry.

Mullikin invited me and friends Frank and Gail Ouimet of Ferryville to the farm for a “grouse visitation.”

Mullikin drove a four-wheeler from his farmhouse through cut cornfields and across pastures to a back ridge on the property. The Ouimets and I followed in a pick-up truck.

Mullikin dismounted from his machine and walked toward the trees.

“Henry, are you around?” Mullikin said. 

After two minutes, a mottled brown shape tip-toed out of the undergrowth and into view. Henry walked toward Mullikin, cocked his head and cooed.

The bird alternated between picking food morsels out of the grass and eyeing Mullikin. After several minutes, Mullikin extended his gloved hand — leather is best, because Henry sometimes pecks — and the grouse flapped onto his human perch.

"When you’re hunting them, you never see the beauty of them, sometimes," Mullikin said.

Henry allowed close-up views of his spiky crest, banded tail and feathered toes. At one point, Henry grew tense and ran into the woods. 

We wondered what had happened. But when we looked skyward, the reason seemed clear: Eight broad-winged hawks soared over the field, likely on migration.

About 10 minutes later, when the hawks had drifted out of view, Henry once again emerged.

'Defying the odds'

Henry has become a part of the Mullikin family, which now includes five children and 18 grandchildren.

Last year, Henry didn't show up for about three weeks, Mullikin said. A clump of feathers in the cornfield offered an ominous clue to his fate. Mullikin's grandson, Casey Kane, 10, of Holmen, was in tears at the thought of losing Henry.

But then the bird reappeared, fit as ever.

“I sure hope he can hang around,” Mullikin said. “I get the biggest kick out of seeing him.”

Although Mullikin, friends and family continue to hunt on the property, grouse are not on the list of approved species. "None of us would think about shooting a grouse here," Mullikin said. 

Henry has already defied the odds. Grouse are on the menu for a long list of other wild animals, said Scott Walter, regional biologist for the Ruffed Grouse Society. Mortality is highest in the nest and as hatchlings.

Walter said there is about a 3% chance a grouse hatched from an egg in 2014 would still be alive.

Walter said while Henry was a rarity, his behavior is not unprecedented. He referred to Henry as a "tame male."

"In all cases I'm aware of, it has been a male grouse in an area with low grouse numbers," Walter said. "We've had at least two other cases in southwestern Wisconsin in recent years."

As the amount of prime grouse habitat — young forests — has declined over the decades, bird numbers have plummeted.

Henry, however, is living proof that at least a few wild birds in southwestern Wisconsin still have the right stuff to make it well into adulthood. Albeit in this case, with the assistance of his human neighbors.

On Thanksgiving 2016, the Mullikin’s will raise a glass to Henry, wishing him a longer life. And hopefully a mate in the spring.

Mullikin has a name picked out for the female grouse he hopes will help propel Henry’s genes into the future: Henrietta.

"Henry has been a real gift," Mullikin said. "We'd like nothing more than to see more grouse around, too."