The Guinea Fowl Chronicles: Mama! There's a chick in my house!

I have the distinct sense that this blog has been hijacked – by guinea fowl. Every time I’m about to post something non-guinea, nature interferes and offers me a guinea story which demands sharing. I’m thinking of giving up the unequal struggle and changing the name of the blog to The Guinea Fowl Chronicles, on the basis if you can’t beat ‘em you may as well join ‘em. I may even apply feathers to my forehead and starting ba-kaaking, a lot (alright then, more than usual).

The usual source of drama - a small peep...

But on with today’s drama…

Early this morning I was standing at the window, counting my chickens, I mean baby guinea fowl (as I swore I wouldn’t do).
“There’re only three, no, four, no five,” said D.
“Nonsense,” I said, “the rest are around the side of Bo’s cage.”
D wandered off and I gazed at the scene on the lawn.
Then I frowned. I blinked. I frowned again. I rubbed my eyes and peered at Bo’s cage.
“D,” I yelled, “there’s a chick in Bo’s cage. No, wait, there’re two chicks in her cage. No, hang on, there are three chicks in her cage!”
“How the hell did they get in there?” he bellowed back.
“Dunno, but we’d better get them out!”
As we headed outside Papa Guinea was doing his head in, running around Bo’s cage hecking something horrible. The air was positively blue. Mama Guinea had gathered up her skirts and ten other chicks and had vanished into the deep undergrowth of the shrubbery.

Come away, children, quickly!

As I advanced, Papa Guinea charged me.
“Don’t be such an ass!” I muttered.
The chicks ran up and down, well trapped in Bo’s cage, meeping furiously.

Let us out! Let us out! Meep, meep, meep!

Maiden Aunt on Speed, Ms Bo, ran with them – looking a bit like a cavalry horse taking charge.

I'm in charge here - er, only I'm not quite sure what to do!

“Heck-heck-heck-heck-heck!” screeched Pa Guinea hurtling around the cage, feathers up and in a right huff.

Heck-heck-heck-heck-heck! @#$@!! ^&%$#@!!! HECK!!!!

“How on earth will we get them out,” muttered D, in something of a lather himself.
“First we have to get Bo into the front section of the cage,” I said.
“No, we have to get the chicks out.”
“I know that,” I said patiently, as though speaking to a three year old... “But let’s get Bo out of the way first.”
“How do we do that?”
Honestly, men! Why is it that in a crisis the rational ability to think straight, goes all wavy and heads south.
“We’ll do what we always do. You go and fetch some worms, I’ll get the cage divider, we’ll lure her to the front section – as we do every day to get her out.”
“It won’t work!”
“It’ll work,” I snapped, “just go and get some worms!”
I was left watching the chicks and being shrieked at by Pa Guinea. He didn’t mind me as much as he minded the camera. Something about point and shoot, I think, was stuck in the primeval bit of his brain.
“Heck-heck-heck-heck,” he roared charging at me.
I pointed the camera at him. He squawked and ducked around the side of the cage, muttering rude things beneath his breath.
D returned with the worms. Bo was lured to the front of the cage. The divider was dropped. Yours truly went to the other side of the cage, lifted it up (in a manful sort of way despite being dressed in nothing but a satin dressing gown) and the chicks shot out like motorized mini mice suffering from an excess of batteries.
“Heeeeeeeck!” hissed Pa Guinea and rushed one chick across the lawn while the other two vanished into bushes alongside the house.
“How the hell did they ever get in?” asked D.

The usual suspect, looking innocent...

Now see, here’s the problem. The usual suspects, aka the squirrels, have done what squirrels always do if there are seeds and nuts they can’t get to. They find a way in. And this lot has taken to tunneling. And sure enough, there was a hole going under the base of the cage.

The Tunnel

I should perhaps mention that last week we found Bo in a lather as two squirrels, the master engineers, flung themselves around her cage because you know how it goes, having got in, no one can ever remember how to get out.

Who me? Nevuh!

So if anyone has any bright ideas about how to stop tunnel builders, bearing in mind that Bo’s cage gets moved around the garden every few days, do please let me know. For the moment we’ve resorted to bricks around the edge of the base where invasions have occurred, but we’re kinda running low on bricks.

The Tunnel blocked, for now...

Oh and before I end off, let me also add that we have a new predator to contend with. Pickings being scarce on the mountain, the baboons have taken to invading the neighbourhood to trash the rubbish bins, break in and devastate anything they can lay their thieving paws on. They are not nice, they can be very aggressive, they have huge yellow fangs and are far too smart for their own good. Dealing with sparrowhawks and herons was, in comparison, um, chicken feed…

Chacma baboons, not to be messed with
Shot above, taken at the arboretum just up the road.
Shot below, taken at Cape Point Nature Reserve

And now I'm off to make myself a nice, soothing cuppa tea.