This week has been filled with little dramas and a big event.
I’ll start with the big event… The Peep Palace (thank you, Aerin, for the name) aka Villa Beau Bo, has ventured into phase 2 of development. This is because we decided that Bo needs to start sleeping outside. However, despite the fact that The Peep Palace has been complete for five days, Ms Bo is still sleeping indoors. I think you may as well call it indulgent parenting…
The new Peep Palace aka Villa Beau Bo with sleeping quarters and all...I should add that indulgent parenting now extends to full scale maggot production. Yes, I know, ick. But what can one do. Bo needs her protein and the easiest thing to do is to "grow our own". She thinks they're wonderful!
Yummy, juicy maggots...
Bo guzzling maggots - I guess someone has to
But in addition to the events, we have the dramas.
On Monday one of the new, very tiny peeps, fell into the pool. I was working inside when I heard frantic peeping. I rushed out and there it was, running in the water… I scooped it up and was charged by Papa Guinea. I ignored him, as is my wont. I wrapped the peep in a small towel and dried it as best I could. Then I did the only sensible thing I could think of to get the rest of the wet off it. I stuck it in my shirt. And there it sat for 15 minutes while Papa Guinea hurled every sort of abuse at me, standing up on his toes, his wings flaring. Daft bird. When I finally removed the small peep, it was dry, warm and fluffy and only too happy to return to its family, despite Papa Guinea’s torrent foul language. So now you know, if you have a wet baby bird, for goodness sake don’t terrify it further with a hairdryer, just pop it in your shirt and let it dry naturally.
Papa GuineaI trotted inside and an hour later was back at the door as I heard all the adult guineas blasting the warning call into the air. A rufous-chested sparrowhawk swept across the lawn, flying low, talons extended – and five guineas, ground birds at the best of times, chased after it. The sparrowhawk made off empty-taloned.
On Wednesday I noticed that there were ailing keets amongst the brood. They looked off-colour and were wobbly on their tiny pins. Yesterday I found one who looked particularly pathetic and though loathe to intervene, I scooped it up. Papa Guinea shrieked at me and then wandered off. I held the peep in my shirt for a while, then popped it on my hand to see what it would do. It bounced off and scuttled towards the family in the shrubbery. At that moment all hell broke loose as every guinea in the vicinity started hecking at a volume which would have raised the dead. The neighbourhood dogs started barking and the keets disappeared into the undergrowth. Thinking it was baboons, we hightailed it inside too.
An ailing keet
When we emerged a few minutes later we saw the small ailing peep appear on the lawn. It plopped itself down in the sun and just sat there, a pathetic heap of fluff. The family ambled off, the parents happily abandoning the weak one. Out I trotted, gathered the little one up and popped inside my shirt. And so we remained for most of the day except for the time I had to go out. When D came home, he got it to take some water laced with glucose, vitamins and anti-stress powder from a dropper. Then it guzzled some maggots and millet and by the time we put it to bed in a box with Gilbert we were hopeful it would make it.
Sadly, it died in the night and poor D was greeted this morning with the sight of the little peep in a state of rigamortis. He said it looked like it had died in a convulsion because its little body was spasmed.
One does what one can but it seems these little birds succumb to bugs or lurgies which just wipe them out. We think about four have died – though it’s so difficult to count them as they scurry about. Of the original thirteen, it seems there are now between eight and ten left. And they are still only about a week and a half old. If one thinks of Bo’s flock of 20 of whom only 2 (excluding Bo) survived, then one realises just how high the mortality rate is.
Papa Guinea looking wistfulIt’s so interesting to watch the parents. They simply walk away from the weak ones. If the little ones can’t follow or keep up, so be it.
As for Papa Guinea, he has determined that I am his mortal enemy. His charges are becoming more irate. So much so that I may soon be obliged to have a certain conversation with him. It will go something like, “Listen mate, I’ve eaten your kind before…”
And as for Ms Bo in her new home, well, she decided today that I am public enemy number one. I have no idea what I’ve done, but I daren’t go near her because she works herself into a frenzy which leaves her trying to fly through the confines of her cage, causes her run up and down in a demented way, or hide, squeaking, behind the plants in the Palace. Even an offering of juicy cutworms hasn’t appeased her majesty’s high dudgeon. I guess I’m in the dog house. Or is that the bird house?
POSTSCRIPT: As I have sat typing this, another baby has died on the lawn. Also, it seems, having convulsed. There is clearly something sweeping through these little birds that is just wiping them out. All told it’s not proving to be a good day.
Rest in Peace, little ones.
Saying goodbye.I know this is not the sort of image you want to see, but this is part of the reality
Mama Guinea and her remaining brood
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