November is here again, and in the 16-gauge, double-barreled world of upland game bird hunters, that means pheasants. Gunners are working the thickets and hedgerows with their dogs, flushing wily three-pound cocks boasting beautiful iridescent feathers and 20-inch tails, and taking aim as the birds burst skyward and wing across the field at speeds up to 45 miles an hour.

At least, that's how it used to be just 30 years ago when many states counted their wild pheasant populations in the millions. Today, the reality is far different. The pheasant hunt has, in many cases, devolved into a pathetic blend of factory farming and canned hunting: The birds are planted, the killing is all but guaranteed, and the "sport" is non-existent.

Wild pheasants aren't heading the way of the passenger pigeon, but their numbers are diminishing rapidly as chunks of farmland habitat are gobbled up by urban sprawl. Industrialized agriculture is also altering the landscape for these birds; bigger fields to accommodate more efficient machinery translates into fewer hedgerows. What's more, increased use of herbicides and pesticides wipes out cover and insects vital to the birds.

The paucity of wild pheasants, of course, causes consternation for those who like to point shotguns in the sky every fall. Because state fish and game agencies want to appease hunting groups, taxpayers are shelling out millions of dollars annually for pheasant restocking programs, despite the fact that the majority of these farm-raised birds will die of starvation or predation, not nickel-plated pellets. At present, 13 states annually repopulate public lands with pheasants produced in large flocks like poultry.

Last year, state wildlife agencies purchased more than 765,000 pen-raised birds, whether chicks or mature pheasants, for release on public lands for what is known as "put and take" hunting. Thousands more are bred for use as live targets at private shooting preserves where the birds are sometimes tossed from high towers toward shotgunners arrayed below.

A week after their release, according to Bird Dog & Retriever News, some 40% will have starved to death or been killed by predators. After a month, the mortality will reach 75%. By the end of the hunting season, only a small percentage will have fallen to a well-aimed wad of lead shot. By some estimates, only a scant 5% will make it through the winter.

To find out why, visit a pheasant farm. You may see birds with opaque plastic spectacles clipped to their mandibles—usually blue for roosters and pink for hens. The spectacles, which act like horse blinders, are designed to prevent the closely confined birds from pecking and injuring each other like frustrated battery hens crammed into tiny cages. A more modern method involves hacking off the tips of the birds' beaks with a hot knife—the same cruel practice suffered by millions of factory-farmed chickens. These debeaked birds likely have difficulty gathering insects and seeds when trying to feed in the wild.

Raised in intense confinement and habituated to humans who have fed them since hatching, the newly released pheasants can take up to three weeks to learn to forage—by which time they may have starved or become food for scavengers or predators such as foxes, raccoons, and raptors. Unlike wary wild birds that have an opportunity to develop appropriate predator-avoidance behaviors, these farmed pheasants possess few survival skills, including the knowledge to find shelter when temperatures plunge. They are products of the pen, not natural selection.

Instead of a challenging and rewarding hunt, pen-raised pheasants provide little more than live target practice. And stocking them is expensive. Two years ago, Pennsylvania solicited bids from private game farms which wanted $8 to $15 a bird, plus shipping. The state decided to continue with its own breeding program, and last year spent $2 million to raise and distribute 193,000 pheasants. That's more than $10 a bird.

Using that figure as a low average, the total cost to purchase 765,000 farmed pheasants for release in 13 states approaches $8 million, mostly to provide gourmet dining for scavengers and predators. Wouldn't that money be better invested in improving habitat? After all, improving and expanding habitat would help eliminate one of the major threats to imperiled wildlife.

Under pressure from hunting groups, state agencies continue to pour millions of dollars into this "put and take" sinkhole. From the taxpayers' perspective, this practice seems an obvious waste of money. From an animal welfare viewpoint, these programs are woefully misguided: State agencies entrusted to protect wildlife are instead financing the dumping of some three-quarters of a million factory-farmed pheasants on our wild lands, only to have most of them starve to death or be killed by predators. From a true sportsman's perspective, the entire process, from the stocking to the "hunt," makes a mockery of ethical field conduct and respect for animals.