Asking the local game farmer for some advice on the mystery madness which has knocked my grey partridge chick off its feet, I discovered some interesting information. I was also generously given several trays of damaged, misshapen and unusual pheasant eggs which failed the entry assessment to the incubator.
Two hours later, I now have over one hundred and fifty pickled pheasant eggs. I love pickled eggs, and a big part of me is starting to think that, given my consistent bad luck with hatching off gamebirds this summer, I might be better suited to a life in the catering trade.
Bog Myrtle & Peat 
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