The Guinea Fowl Chronicles

They’ve found their wings. And I take full responsibility. The strange thing is, they’re not leaving. Well, why would they, food, water, sunshine, protection what more could a guinea fowl want?

It all started last Sunday when I reached the end of my tether with all the mess on the patio – feathers, leaves, sand scratched out from the flower beds, seed husks and not to mention the lathering of pooh. It was time for a big clean up and the fowl would have to tolerate it. They were not impressed with all the sweeping and shuffled off from the front garden to the backyard. Then when I popped inside for some water, they all beetled back into the garden and lurked in the shrubbery - which was around about when I had the bright idea that the dead branch over the edge of the patio had to come down. And D, with his passion for toys, like all boys, was only too happy to haul out the chainsaw. Well, that sent the fowl into a right frenzy – and they discovered they could fly. Well, most of them, anyway. As the chainsaw buzzed and shrieked, I saw about half the baby guineas perched on the wall (which is just over six foot high) and in the trees – looking remarkably pleased with themselves. When the branch was down and we’d it dragged it away, they fluttered down, chirping proudly, “look at me”. Which was roundabout when I realised one was missing, and judging by the ruckus going on at the wall, had actually taken the flying bit to extremes and had gone over the top. Now it’s one thing flying from the garden (there are shrubs to help a small bird on the way) but it’s an entirely different matter from the other side of the wall. Time for Operation Rescue.

I don’t know if you’ve ever tried to catch a baby guinea fowl. It’s no joke. They move like motorized mice, zipping this way and that, peeping furiously as though the sky had just fallen on their heads. We managed to corner the offending peep in a small bed on the outside wall. Father Guinea was atop the wall, hecking furiously at our intervention. Finally the peep hopped onto the aloe from where he hoped, no doubt, to make a valiant flap up the wall. It wasn’t going to be a happening thing. Anyone with more than a bird brain could have told you that. I sidled up behind him and edged my hand down a bit at a time, until it was poised over his back. The little head came round and stared at the finger near his head. Father Guinea, I felt sure, was about to leap on my back and peck me to death. He sounded like a well-oiled machine gun, striding up and down the wall, interjecting ear piercing screeches into the general cacophony. I grabbed. “Peeeeeeeep,” shrieked the peep, “peeeep, peeeeep, peeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep,” as I placed him on top of the wall. Poor thing was white-eyed with fear. He staggered forward three steps and fell off the wall into the garden. Father Guinea, in a total lather, also fell off the wall, alongside his offspring. They spent the next three days sulking and casting me wary looks. Not that it has encouraged them to leave - though it has reminded them that they can in fact fly.

Since then there has been much practicing of wings going on and one small peep somehow found his way onto to the top of the yard wall. More than six foot up, heaven only knows how he managed to get there. There he perched, amidst the ivy, looking ever so pleased with himself, while down below Mother Guinea muttered small “ba-kaaks” by way of encouraging him down. “Ba-kaak, dear, ba-kaak,” she said gently. In the way of all small boys, he ignored her. Not coming when called, you could see him thinking to himself. “Ba-kaak, ba-kaak,” she peeped in low tones. “Ba-kaak, really dear, do come down.” He wasn’t having any of it. So, like all smart mothers, she slowly started to walk away. And as soon as she did, down he came. But he didn’t hop down, didn’t flutter to the ground directly below him. Oh no, he needed to show everyone he could fly and boy, fly he did – about three meters, diagonally from the top of the wall to the ground – very proud of himself indeed.

The garden service called this morning and asked why they hadn’t heard from me.
“I’ll call you in a week or two,” I said, having explained the situation. “They should be fully fledged by them.”

Thing is, they might be fully fledged but I’m not sure this lot are inclined to leave. Life’s just too good here, especially now they’ve discovered there’s someone who actually cleans up all the pooh and sees the local cat well-watered…

And lest you should think that the guinea fowl are the only ones with babies in the garden, let me assure you that's not the case, the chaffinches have been at it too...

…and so have the squirrels...