Rest in peace, little Bo

Little Bo, always the runt, but with so much spirit
She had my heart from the start

And so it ends – the Guinea Fowl Chronicles, which started back in October 2008 when little Bo Peep and her family arrived in our garden.

You’ve taken the journey with me, watched over little Ms Bo and applauded her spirit and determination to survive. You’ve fretted with me when she was ill, cheered as she grew. I believe she found a place in all your hearts.

And now she is gone.

Ms Bo's family
October 2008

Ms Bo, waiting for her handout of maggots

You’ll recall that in the post I did before going on holiday, I said that Ms Bo had been seen in the garden again. She came back almost daily with the Ba-Kaaka Nostra – but she was never really part of them.

In the garden in May, free at last

Keeping company with the usual suspects

As the winter settled in bringing cold, driving rain so the guinea fowl became more aggressive about feeding. Bo, because she hadn’t been able to integrate with the flock, found it increasingly difficult to feed. I’d put food out separately for her, but as soon as she started to eat one of the males would chase her away. Two weeks ago, it struck me that she’d lost body mass.

She started to stay in the garden, keeping clear of the Ba-Kaaka Nostra and other flocks that come here to feed. She’d feed when she could, with me standing guard a few meters away, then she’d lie in the sun, trying to keep warm. But it soon became obvious that not only was she losing weight, she was also ill. She was increasingly hunched, cold and listless and she clearly had a gut problem. She took to lying around in the sun, barely eating.

I found some darkling beetles and enticed her to eat. But the food wasn’t enough with bitter cold of the night. Last Wednesday I managed to catch her – and that was a bad sign. She was feathers and bone – her body mass all gone, the strength she’d had when she’d escaped and left here, wittled away to nothing. She didn’t even struggle.

I brought her inside and popped her in the big dog traveling cage. Her eyes dulled almost immediately. You could see her thinking, “Oh no, not this again, not caged.”

We kept her warm and fed her on mealworms and grain – but she really wasn’t terribly interested. I cleaned her beak for her because she was too lethargic to do so herself. She slept for most of Thursday. On Friday I took her to the avian vet.

“I’ll do what I can,” said the vet, “we’ll give her a chance. I’ll incubate her, give her antibiotics and vitamins. I’ll deworm her and crop feed her if necessary. I’ll give her the best care I can. And I’ll call you on Sunday evening.”

She called me on Monday morning. Ms Bo had died a few hours before. She’d perked up on Saturday the vet said, gone down again on Sunday. The vet was going to ask to keep her a few days longer. But Ms Bo took the decision for herself – and for her, it was probably the right one.

She never wanted to be a pet or a domesticated guinea fowl but likewise, she couldn’t survive on her own in the surburban “wild”. So she left and went home.

Ms Bo is buried in the herb garden, under the asparagus fern were she used to sleep with her mother when she was a tiny keet. There’s a hole in our hearts and the garden seems an emptier place without her. But she had her moments of contentment, her culinary delights and a taste of freedom.

“Think,” said D, “She was able to roost in the gum tree and watch the sun rise. What a thrill that must have been for her.”

Rest in peace, little Bo.

Ms Bo - last Wednesday October 2008 - 15 June 2009