The Guinea Fowl Chronicles - Cat Attack!

Where did they all go?
(Bo Peep in front)

I am not a cat person. Aside from making me sneeze, I think they’re cunning and cruel. And I’m fast coming to the realization that the only good cat may be a cat who’s had a good throw in the pool, especially when said cat has come hunting guinea chicks in my garden.

There we were in front of the TV last night when I heard a guinea fowl hecking – an agitated, shrieking warning.

“Cat!” I said to D and we shot out the back door to the yard. It had to be cat as it’s the only predator around at that time.

The guinea was in a lather and the cacophony soon increased as the other three guineas who make up the adult flock minding the chicks chimed in sounding off like live rounds of blistering machine gun fire. We switched on the outside lights, checked around and found nothing. The guineas seemed to settle and we went inside.

Half an hour later, I was sitting at my pc when the hecking started up again, and near the window I heard a strangled shriek of a small peep.

“D!” I yelled, “Come quick!”

Out the door again and this time we knew there was trouble. Several terrified chicks were scattered across the yard. One ran up and down, one desperately tried to break through the door to the garage, one was perched on a window sill and three were huddled next to the wall. There was no doubt about it, the cat I’d seen the other day had come hunting. The adults were all up in the trees, hecking and ba-kaaking while the chicks on the ground, those who aren’t yet fledged, were so silent as to make it eerie.

“I’ll check around some more,” said D and headed towards the front garden.
He was back a couple of minutes later. “There’re two in the pool,” he said, holding out his hands. “Take this one, I’m going back to get the other.”

The poor mites were terrified and freezing. Their little bodies trembled as I held them, wrapped in hand towels, close to my chest, the heater on and trying to warm them up. D went and organized a box and there we sat, nursing the two tiniest chicks of the flock.

The one, whom I’ve now christened Bo-Peep, is clearly the runt. I’m assuming she’s female but I may yet be proved wrong. Where the other Peeps have grown and flourished, this little mite, though strong in spirit, has hardly grown, isn’t nearly fledged and constantly struggles. There are days when I think she’s just not going to make it, days when her eyes pale and she struggles to keep up with the rest, stopping periodically to rest or to warm herself in the sun. And then she surprises me with her boldness and her zest for life on another day as she zips around, chasing bugs in the grass.

Little Bo Peep

Once the trembling had stopped, Gilbert was brought to the rescue. Gilbert is a hot water bottle that lives inside a “doggy” casing. Gilbert has done the job of nursing guinea chicks before. The two small peeps were put into the box, on top of Gilbert, and covered with a small towel. Then the search for the rest continued.

We weren’t sure how many were out there still, but we figured there had to be at least five. We knew there were about seven in total who weren’t properly fledged. It was pitch black and our torches are hopeless, but we managed to find two in the woodpile. One, was having nothing doing with being caught and who once nabbed by the arch guinea chick nabber (that’s me…), he issued strident and heartily protesting peeps. Into to the box he went. The last one was easier to grab and D caught it in the depths of the woodpile and into the box it went too. My view was the more chicks in the box, the warmer they’d keep each other and the more offer security they’d offer one another.

I had a sleepless night, one ear constantly alert for sounds of peeping or hecking and come first light, when I heard Mother Guinea trying to gather the remnants of her brood, I roused D and we took the box outside.

It was strange; it was as though Mother Guinea knew we had her young. She drew closer as D opened the box, watching him cautiously uttering soft calling ba-kaaks. Chick #3 flapped out of the box as soon as it was open, fluttered across the pool and up into the Mexican Trumpet Vine. Chick # 4 followed, flapped out the box and scuttled towards his siblings, those chicks who are fledged and who spent the night in a tree. The two smallest peeps weren’t remotely interested in leaving. Bo-Peep was sound asleep, snuggled up against Gilbert and would, D felt, have much rather stayed with us. But that’s not what you do, you have to return them and so we sent her off to Mum.

Maybe if I jump and flap a bit...

The adults have been very careful this morning, the flock has stuck together. Father Guinea has even been seeing off the squirrels. But now, as I sit here typing this, I can hear strident peeping again and bugger me if the adults and the fledglings haven’t all gone over the wall, leaving the six yet unfledged chicks mewling pathetically in the yard. The worst is, you know there is nothing you can do and you just have to let nature take its course, knowing that before long Mum will be back.

I’m not sure my nerves can’t take this and I have a feeling I might have to leave home if I’m to survive the raising of this brood! And as for that cat… I’ve got plans for it, just as soon as I can get my hands on the bloody thing.

Made it to the top of the wall!

Postscript: The next post will be in pictures - guineas learning to fly... I hope your nerves are up to it - mine are shot, after one sleepless night and another spent worrying after we had to take in abandoned chicks, who again, have been let out in the morning... I'm giving up this goddessing business, it's just too hard.