Goodbye, Ms Bo

Ms Bo on her "inside" perch

It's not how we'd planned it and it's not how we expected it to happen. But nature takes her own course in these things and I'm trying to be pragmatic about it - despite a sleepless, fretful night.

Yes, the inevitable has happened - Ms Bo has escaped, never to be seen again, I suspect.

Strangely, we've been saying for the last two weeks that it's probably time for us to seriously consider setting her free - that was, after all, always the intention. We were hoping to take her to the avian vet on Saturday for a check up and a final verdict on her state of well being and then we were going to open the door to her pen, one day when the Ba-Kaaka Nostra were present, and let her go.

Bo and the Ba-Kaaka Nostra a couple of weeks ago

The reality is that we could never have kept Ms Bo - she was wild from the start and intended to stay that way - a fact that became deeply apparent a couple of months back when we had painters at the house. Although they denied it, we think one of them terrorised her because since then Ms Bo's attitude to humans was one of utter panic. Guinea fowl are neurotic at the best of times, but Ms Bo took to working herself into a frenzy anytime anyone came remotely near Le Palais de Beau Bo - and she took to hiding out in the "hutch" we built on to the back of her house when anyone got to close. Once in there though she obviously felt safe, as she'd suffer having her back stroked by me on occasions and seemed to enjoy being crooned at and told she was a beautiful girl who'd grow up to be queen of all the guinea fowl...
.

Bo's first villa - Bo Vers 0.1

And although the avian vet had suggested that we could keep Bo as a pet, both we and Bo knew that Bo was a wild thing. So, as I say, the intention remained to find a suitable time, when we thought she was strong enough, and release her. But so much for the best laid plans.

Yesterday evening D took Bo her worms and for some reason didn't shut the door of the pen behind him. Although he usually shuts the door behind him, it's not necessarily a problem if he doesn't as Bo doesn't tend to make bids to escape. But this time, as he leaned underneath her to drop her mealworms in the scratching tray, she eyed the open door, whizzed over his head and was out. There was no thought of even trying to catch her - it would have been hopeless. We hoped that if we left her, she'd find herself a spot for the night, settle down and reappear in the morning. (Very often guinea fowl that have been raised by humans and then set free will be quite content to never leave the sanctuary of their garden.)

We watched nervously as Bo pootled around the garden for a few minutes - and then eyed the wall - the one over which the Ba-Kaaka Nostra fly every day. Bear in mind Ms Bo has not had much exercise at flying any great heights, but she stood there contemplating the wall and then in a flurry of wings was up and gone.

At first we thought she'd gone straight over the wall until frantic searches in the road revealed nothing - and then I spotted her shuffling on a thick gum branch some ten feet above the ground. She seemed to be settling in for the night so we left her to it. It was nearly dark and there was nothing we could do. We left the door of her pen open, put out plenty of seed and hoped for the best.

This morning there was no sign of her and although the Ba-Kaaka Nostra turned up for breakfast and although there was a juvenile guinea fowl that flew down from the very top of the tallest gum to join them, and although we hoped that it was Bo, closer inspection of the photos I shot (for confirmation) show that it was most likely not her.

Juvenile guinea fowl, almost certainly not Bo

Bo has four distinctions about her - she has two white claws, a badly damaged left nostril from constantly banging it against the wire of the pen, a deformed breast bone and very rasping voice. But she'd need to call out or one would need to get really close to be able to identify her. And the bird above's face just isn't Ms Bo's - as much as we wanted it to be.

So, we have no idea where she is and we can only hope that she will be okay. Whether she will survive or not out there on her own, who knows - but I'm not holding my breath. Her best bet would be to integrate with another group of guinea fowl - a lone guinea doesn't stand much chance - and bear in mind that Bo has never been out of our garden - has no experience of dogs and cats, let alone cars. We can only know that we did our best for her and that without us she would never have got this far. And as D says, better one day free as a lion than a lifetime penned up as a sheep. So here's hoping that whatever freedom Ms Bo is enjoying or did enjoy, it's good.

Finally the story that started here with this wee and ailing guinea fowl keet...

Bo Peep, an abandoned guinea keet, unable to fledge

Bo Peep, rescued and learning to leap

Ms Bo, munching on a snail

Ooh, bugs, yum!

...ends here with these shots taken just two days ago.

Ms Bo, a nearly fully grown guinea fowl

I'm glad I had the chance to give her one last stroke yesterday and tell her what a beautiful girl she is.

Be safe, be wild and be free, Ms Bo.

Oh Woe, Bo - no, no, no - it's Yo, Bo!

Erk, what a few days it's been. Ms Bo woke up very, very poorly on Saturday morning - so much so that we thought she was at death's door. I sat with her on my lap most of the morning until we could get an appointment with the local vet. Of course, the local vet had never had to deal with a guinea fowl before and kept rushing out to his colleague to ask about various lumps and bumps he found on Ms Bo's anatomy. None of these comings and goings encouraged us very much and Ms Bo was deeply indignant about the whole business especially when the vet shoved a thermometer up her whazoo (cloaca to those of you avian and anatomically-minded sorts). Ms Bo's eyes sort of crossed and she decided the better part of valour was to play possum, which, after a mighty squawk, she did. Then it was a shot of antibiotics, followed a vitamin injection that elicited a shriek of protests. Then Ms Bo was weighed - all of 110g of her.
"Come back tomorrow," the vet said.
And so on Sunday we repeated the whole business by which time Ms Bo was a whole lot feistier and less inclined to cooperate.
"Make an appointment to see our avian vet on Tuesday," said the vet who acknowledged he knew absolutely nothing about guinea fowl. "And bring her back tomorrow for another jab of antibiotics."

So, this morning Ms Bo finally got to see not just one avian vet, but two. And clearly they spoke Guinea. I was rushing about like a headless chicken doing grocery shopping while D did the concerned parent thing. He said Bo was like a lamb with the two avian vets, who fussed her and loved her and told her she was totally wonderful. It turned out all the lumps and bumps are normal to guinea fowl anatomy. They reckoned Ms Bo was doing just fine. They provided hints on how to get her to feed more effectively. They suggested that we get her a "friend" - a chicken chick - or, they said, if another abandoned guinea fowl chick was brought in, could they call us.
"Yes, absolutely," said D, eternally a sucker for a lost cause.
Frankly, I was surprised he resisted the vets' attempts to foist an abandoned hamster on to him. Were it not for the fact that we do have plans to leave SA sooner rather than later, I rather suspect we'd now be fostering said hammie.
Ms Bo had another vitamin shot, she's to get more oral antibiotics, she's been given vitamin powder and we've been told that if she's made it this far, she'll make it, per se. Whew! Relief and cheers all round.
I do, however, suspect that Ms Bo is going to be with us for the long term - her and whatever chicken we get to keep her company. I'm just wondering how Atyllah the Hen and Granny Were are going to take to this bit of news. Will it be praise for the Goddess Vanilla or will it be utter scorn for humans who clearly have no idea what they're doing!

And just to keep you amused - some recent antics from the wild menagerie...

A guinea (the resident pair) got into the cage one day... his wife was not impressed.
"Harold," clucked Maude, "what in the name of all that is corn are you doing in there?! Come out now before they put you in the pot!"

A new crop of chicks have found their way into the garden...

Mom, why's this chick in a cage?

The usual suspect, trying to find a way of breaking and entering... incorrigible!

A gathering of guineas - the new chicks, and Bo's family and all the other usual suspects

But on that note of Bo's happy and encouraging progress, let me take the opportunity to wish you and yours a very happy, blessed, loving and fun-filled festive season - whether you celebrate Christmas, Hannukah, Kwanzaa, Yule, Rohatsu, Ramadan and Eid ul Adha, the Winter or Summer Solstice (yes, a bit late on some of those, I know!). And I hope none of you are having turkey...

Reflections from my Christmas Tree

The Guinea Fowl Chronicles, Ms Bo's Beau...

Ms Bo... not a very big peep

Ms Bo, it seems, in addition to her usual entourage, has a beau. Well, he’s either that or he’s appointed himself as part time Father Protector. He’s a lone male guinea, whose mate died last year, after she’d been in some kind of accident that had partially severed her leg. We’d have caught her and taken her for treatment if we could have, but she was far too traumatised. The hen’s leg finally fell off and she and her mate pretty much lived in the safety of the garden for a few months before she disappeared. He spent weeks wandering around aimlessly and is now a daily visitor to the garden and seems to have become quite attached to Ms Bo.

Ms Bo and her beau...

Ms Bo's entourage

Last week I discovered that on top of the black and rufous-chested sparrowhawks and the neighbourhood cats, Ms Bo has an additional predator to worry about – a black headed heron. Herons will evidently munch anything up to the size of a dove. Since Ms Bo appears to be a dwarf guinea fowl, she’d make a suitable snack. Father Protector aka The Beau, happened to be in the garden the day the heron appeared. Up he went on his toes, spread out his wings and flapped them vigorously. Of course, the heron just ignored him, until Father Protector proceeded to herd the lurking beast away from Bo’s cage.

Bo's Beau seeing off the evil heron...

There, that got rid of him!

Ms Bo also has another guinea couple who just don’t seem to know what to make of her. They have hung out in the garden for the past few months – and now that Bo’s family are infrequent visitors the Guinea Couple hang around her cage most of the day, the hen constantly pecking at Bo through the mesh. This morning they were both lying at her cage, waiting for her to be brought out and have subsequently spent the last couple of hours obsessing over her. I do honestly wish I spoke better Guinea so I could make the necessary enquiries!

As for Ms Bo…well, she remains a Very Small Bird. Her siblings, who occasionally come to visit, are now huge. They’ve got their iron-grey spotted feathers and you can see the beginnings of their combs. The size difference is simply absurd. The curious thing is that Ms Bo seems just fine. She eats like a ravening horde, pootles around her cage, chats to herself and remains decidedly feisty of spirit. D is convinced she’s growing, just very slowly - I think he’s being optimistic. Our zoologist friend just reckons she’s a “dwarf”. Personally, I’m still hoping for a last minute growth spurt, but I suspect I may be being optimistic too.

Bo and her brother - little and large...

Bo's Brother - he ain't heavy, he's my brother...

Bo's mother, her brother and the usual suspect...

Ms Bo on the hop...

This weekend Villa Beau Bo aka the Peep Palace will be getting an extension, so Bo will have still more space in which to shout the odds. Meanwhile, our mealworm cultivation project having proved to be a disaster and earthworms containing too high a tannin content, D is now cultivating maggots. I know, don’t ask. Still we have discovered that maggots make a fine meal for a small bird – and I think they’re probably better than some of the bugs I’ve been finding for her. I mean, for heaven’s sake, last week I had to stick my finger into her mouth to dislodge a bug that she’d snarfed down too rapidly. I would really prefer not to have to do that again. It’s bad enough trundling down to the greenbelt at the end of the road with a net and collecting box to harvest grasshoppers and having people look at us askance and ask, “Um, exactly what are you doing?” Ah well, eccentric is as eccentric does, I guess, and we have a guinea chick to rear.

The week that is

We’ve had a couple of worrying days – Ms Bo has been looking very peaky. I’m putting it down to too many bugs – the trouble is she has an insatiable appetite for bugs and grubs and if it doesn’t move, she’s not terribly interested in eating it. Yesterday we put her on a largely bug free diet (she got a few plump wood lice and that was it – aside from the usual grain and seed). Interestingly, this morning she is looking better but I’m still not convinced she’s “over” whatever has been ailing her – and frankly, I’m at a bit of a loss as to what to do. Fly, if you’re reading this, help, please! (Fly is the very nice fellow from the International Guinea Fowl Association.) D is convinced it’s either a “childhood illness” or a growth spurt. But who’s to know, certainly not us, complete novices in the this guinea rearing business. Frankly, I don’t think it helps that the wind is howling – and Bo doesn’t like the wind – I think it brings back bad memories from the night her whole flock were wiped out.

On which note, the fire is still raging on the other side of the bay – fanned by the strong winds. It’s partially under control but hectares of indigenous bush of have been destroyed and several homes have been razed.




For those of you who have been reading this blog for a while, you may remember my posts about Angela, the Zimbabwean lady who works for me once a week. As you may know, cholera has broken out in Zimbabwe (and is spilling over into surrounding countries, including South Africa). It’s purported that the reported figures of illness and death are being grossly underplayed by the Zim government. The latest news report references 756 deaths and more than 15 000 infections. A Zimbabwean aid agency said on the news this morning that the infrastructure in Zim is no longer on its knees but is lying flat on its face. Hospitals are standing empty, doctors and nurses aren’t working because they’re not being paid (neither are teachers). Last week the soldiers ran riot when they couldn’t draw their salaries – though the generals are, of course, still living it up. I’ve been concerned for Angela because most of her family is still in Zim. I asked her this morning when she came to work how things are going. She says her sister in Harare has been complaining of stomach pains for the past week and yesterday was much worse. The doubly worrying thing for Angela is that her young daughter lives with her sister. Her brother who is out in the rural areas says the water coming out of the taps is green – they are reduced to drawing water from a borehole – though who’s to know whether that is contaminated or not. The situation is beyond ridiculous and absurdly, instead of calling for Mugabe’s resignation, South Africa and neighbouring countries are still looking to broker a power sharing deal – which will still leave Mugabe in charge. It’s nothing short of rank insanity. You can read more about it here.

I think one of the worrying things that stems from this outbreak of cholera is the potential for a resurgence of the xenophobia we saw in South Africa in May this year. Then, local people went on the rampage against “foreigners” who were accused of stealing “jobs”. Now there is a grave danger that locals may once more go against “foreigners” for bringing disease into the country. Angela said that she couldn’t get to work yesterday because there was so much violence in the area where she lives. Once again she is afraid that she and her husband will be targeted because they are Zimbabwean. I think the thing one needs to bear in mind in this situation is that the xenophobia hasn’t “gone”. It has just been brought into check from the madness that flared up in May. The reality is that it is still there, simmering and playing itself out in backstreets where no one really bothers about it. The reality of being a “foreigner” in South Africa from somewhere else in Africa is a harsh one indeed.

If there was ever a time for world pressure to be brought on Zimbabwe’s government, now’s that time – in fact, it’s long, long overdue. Mugabe needs to go, Zimbabwe needs to be restored to the vision all its people once held for it, it needs to become the green and pleasant land that it once was, that it has the potential to be again. One wonders how much more suffering ordinary Zimbabweans will have to endure before the world actually steps in and says “enough!”. One wonders if ordinary Zimbabweans can indeed endure any more.

Have you met Miss Bo...

A brief musical interlude with Miss Bo and I... (original music courtesy of Richard Rodgers, original lyrics, not the ones below, courtesy of Lorentz Hart). Please play the audio clip, it jollies up this post no end...

Villa Beau Bo/Palais du Bo/Casa Bo/Peep Palace
A home by any other name

Have you met Miss Bo?

Have you met Miss Bo? Someone said as we shook hands,
She was just Miss Bo to me.
And then I said, Miss Bo, I'm a girl who understands,
You're a fowl who must be free.
And all at once, she peeped, and all at once she meeped,
And all at once I felt I knew Miss Bo intimately.
And now I've met Miss Bo, and we'll keep on meeting till she flies,
Miss Bo and I.



Have you met Miss Bo? Someone said as we shared worms.
By then Miss Bo and I were family.
And then I said, Miss Bo, you're a girl without concerns,
you know one day you'll be free.
All at once Miss Bo pecked my hand, and all at once Miss Bo took the stand,
And all at once I realised Miss Bo owned me.
And now we know how things between us stand,
Miss Bo and I.

"What," asked Granny Were, nudging me with her beak in a way best described as indelicate, "are you feeding this chick? Huh?"
"Mixed grains, seed, crushed peanuts and the odd crushed and shelled snail," I replied, quivering under her beady gaze.
"What? No worms, no bugs, no beetles, no grubs?"
I shook my head and chewed my lip.
"Shame on you!" squawked Granny, clipping me roundly about the ear. "Get yourself out there and start looking for bugs and beetles this minute!"

Since that conversation, D and I have spent and inordinate amount of time grubbing in the compost heap, cultivating mealworms and darkling beetles, and hunting down slugs. And Miss Bo has proved to be a right piggy. As soon as she sees one of us appear with the jar, she's over like a shot and the poor unoffensive beetle is wolfed down before you can say mopani worm! You'll get the idea from the pictures below...

Grubbing in the compost

Ooh bugs!

Wait, Bo, I'll give them to you.

Don't worry, I'll take them right out of the jar! Darkling beetles, yum-yum!

A bird on the shoulder is worth two in the, er...

An evening cuddle, Miss Bo and I.

Oh by the Great Corncob... Uninvited Houseguests!

Chicken with Attitude... and on a rescue mission. Oh boy...

I was gently swimming towards consciousness after a good night’s snooze when I heard a huge splash outside. Something had fallen in the pool. But it wasn’t a small something, like a squirrel, no this was much, much, much bigger. My heart quivered. I’d heard that kind of splash once before. It was the splash of something round and silver and about the size of a… well, the size of a Novapulsian spacepod. I knew, in the interest of intergalactic relations, I should get up and help but I couldn’t bear the thought. Instead I pulled the duvet over my head and pretended to be dead.
The front door opened, and someone clicked across the tiles and headed towards the bedroom.
“You can come out of there!” snapped a voice.
“I’m ill,” I muttered, “And it’s contagious.”
“Don’t lie to me, ever. You know I know when you’re telling porky pies!”
The duvet was unceremoniously yanked off my trembling form and I found myself staring into a pair of dark glinting eyes.
“The word is,” rasped the voice of Atyllah the Hen, Chicken with Attitude, dangerously close to my ear, “that you’ve kidnapped and are holding captive a young fowl. I don’t know what you were thinking Vanilla, but this is not acceptable. It contravenes every multiversal code we ever taught you. Shame on you!”
“I didn’t…” I began, and then realised that it depended entirely from which perspective you looked at Bo’s rescue. “Look,” I said trying again, “It’s not like that.”
“Oh really,” said Atyllah, “then explain to me how it is.”
Somewhere down at the other end of the house I heard a loud, PFRRRRT! The fruity smell of ancient beans drifted up the passage.
“Oh you didn’t!” I exclaimed.
“Couldn’t be helped,” said Atyllah, gazing at a well-manicured claw. “When she heard what you’d done, Granny Were insisted on coming along so she could help set things to rights.” She gave me a wily and knowing look down her beak and sat down on the edge of the bed.
“She’s not cross, is she?” I mumbled.
“What do you think?”
I groaned. “Honestly,” I said, “it’s really not how you think it is.”
“So you said, and I’m still waiting for the explanation.”
I heard the kitchen cupboards open and the sound of scuffling.
“She won’t find any beans or corn in there, you know,” I said.
“It’s not going to stop her from trying,” remarked Atyllah.
“I don’t suppose you brought Great-Aunt Aggie with you,” I asked hopefully, praying for some “balance”.
Atyllah sighed. “You know full well that Aunt Aggie took on the altered form of a pure energy being when she joined the Andromedans.”
I nodded.
“But of course, she can join us telepathically.”
“Oh good.”
“I’m still waiting you know.”
“Look, there was a storm, this chick wasn’t fledged,” I said hurriedly – speaking loudly so that my voice would travel down the passage to the kitchen. “The others had fledged the day before, had taken to the trees. This poor mite was still grounded and she was just not going to survive the storm. We did the decent thing. We rescued her, took her in. By the time the storm had passed, her family were gone – and it turned out later that only two chicks, the biggest, had survived the storm. If we’d left her out there she’d never have made it.”
“Uhuh. And you’ve kept her, why? You’re not thinking of fattening her up for Christmas, are you?” Atyllah shot me a beady look.
“Of course not. At this point she’s abandoned. She’s tiny and she still can’t fly properly. We’re doing what we believe is the decent thing. As soon as she’s big enough, we’ll set her free.”
“You know if it was any other human telling me this, I wouldn’t believe them.”
I sighed, relieved. “Thanks, Atyllah.”
“Oh, don’t think you’ve got off that lightly. If there is a young fowl to be raised, you’re not doing it alone. It’s going to be done properly.”
“What do you mean?” I asked nervously.
“It means we’re staying to help.”
“Both of you?” I asked, groaning inwardly.
“Uhuh.”
“Oh.”
“Oh pul-lease, don’t look so miserable, anyone else would be grateful for the assistance.”
“Yes, they would,” crowed a voice from the doorway.
“Hello, Granny,” I said weakly and tried to pull the duvet over my head again.

So there you have it. And I thought D and I were getting along just fine in raising little Bo. Now Atyllah and Granny Were have turned up from Novapulse and are weighing in with their expert advice. Oh by the Great Corncob, as if I needed more drama. Will someone just remind me when we come up to full moon. We’ll need to truss Granny to keep her out of harm’s way. Harm to everyone else that is. I don’t even want to think of the effect on Bo when Granny goes lunar and does the full werechicken number. Still, the old bird might come in handy in dealing with the sparrowhawk… and Mrs Stroppy. Now that could well be a sight worth witnessing.

Villa Beau Bo - Bo's new accommodation - we hope she likes it!
And yes, it's been a weekend of sawing, hammering, planing and varnishing.

Scatty Vanilla, Bo update and a book meme

Yes, so, where are the nuts?

If this post makes no sense, don’t say you weren’t warned. And if you’re wondering why blog posts are a bit scarce, I suspect it’s because I’ve forgotten I have a blog! I rather fear that a few brain cells have gone walk about these past couple of days leaving me beyond scatty. So far I’ve tried to unpack the dishwasher into the fridge. I’ve managed to knock over an entire pile of magazines in the supermarket. I’ve mowed down an elderly lady with my shopping trolley, I’ve forgotten my physio appointment, nearly closed the garage door on my car, forgotten a samoosa in the microwave for so long it caught on fire (I’m not kidding – only the smell alerted me), and I’ve been caught talking to myself on several occasions (not that this is particularly unusual). I’ve decided the best thing to do is to go back to bed and not emerge until D has certified me fit human company. Do you ever have days like this? Please tell me I’m not alone, or that I’m not irretrievably losing my last remaining marble.

Not a guinea fowl - but a rock pigeon

In other news, Bo has taken a huge leap forward – or should I say upward. She (or he - I’m starting to wonder if I’m not also suffering from a bad case of fowl gender confusion), has given up on Gilbert and has taken to roosting on the bamboo roads I poked through the bars of the dog traveling cage. The rods are half a meter up, which means, despite playing possum during the flying lessons, she can in fact fly a bit. She’s also developing an attitude, which means when I fish her out of her cage in the morning to go into her “day room”, she bites me. I do not mean a peck, I mean beak clamping down over the soft folds of skin on my hand. Clearly this is a fowl with not fur and fangs, but feathers and beak. Granny Were would be proud of her. This weekend D will be building her a much bigger pen and I think she’ll be able to start sleeping outdoors, after all, we don’t want her becoming soft and foppish. She’s also discovered that sitting on my shoulder isn’t a bad idea. I hope this isn’t something that’s going to last into adulthood. I mean a parrot on one’s shoulder is one thing but a fully grown guinea fowl? I think not!
I should add that presently Ms Bo is perched under a sun umbrella – all that’s missing is the pina colada… and her family who seem to have disappeared.

You lookin' at me?

And then Karen over at Border Town Notes tagged me for a meme… Memememememememeeeeeeeeee… (Sorry about that, just remember I warned you in the first paragraph…)
So, in this meme I’m supposed to recommend four essential reads. Hoo boy.

The rules are:

(a) Fiction book
(b) Autobiography
(c) Non-fiction book
(d) A fourth book of your choice from any genre.

Explain why the books are essential reads in no more than 30 words per book. Ooh er…

a) Fiction Book – actually it’s a children’s book (now come on, don’t tell me you’re surprised): The Little White Horse by Elizabeth Goudge.
As a child I found this book inspirational woven as it is with magic and gentle words and plenty of imagination. If there was ever a book that encouraged me to write for children, this was it. Oops, passed the 30 word mark, oh well.

b) Autobiography – I’m not a great fan of autobiography’s so perhaps the book that comes closest is Wild Swans by Jung Chang.
As a student of Chinese politics in my final year at university, when I later came to read this book I found it full of the realities of what China was really like for the majority under the leadership of Mao and following on the Cultural Revolution. It’s also a very vivid story and well told.

c) The Tao Te Ching by Lao Tzu – discovering the Tao has made such a fundamental difference in my life that not mentioning it would just be, well, all wrong. It is wise, insightful, mysterious, but if you take the time to really feel the words all sorts of truths are revealed.

d) On a lighter note, and because laughter is the best medicine, pretty much any of Terry Pratchett’s Discworld series – perhaps running at present favourite is Wintersmith, a close second is Wyrd Sisters. I love Pratchett’s humour, his imagination, characterisation and the easy flow with which he writes. I also love the way he parodies the world - and I think it’s utterly tragic that he has been diagnosed with early onset Alzheimer’s Disease.

I’m not sure how many people I’m supposed to tag, but I’m tagging:
Lane
Baino
Jane
Fire Byrd
Crystal Jigsaw
Laquet
Ropi
and Rambler

Actually, you know what? Just all consider yourselves tagged – I’d hate any of you to feel left out!

Right, now let me see if I can find my way to the garden without getting lost.

The peeping armpit peeps...

Two little chicks

The peeping armpit peeps, and having peeped, peeps on…

Our zoologist friend said one of the best things we could do to calm Bo was to put her inside a shirt so that she could absorb body warmth. D has thusly become designated Guinea Mother… And Bo once under the shirt has shown an inclination to head towards an armpit – from whence she peeps and peeps and peeps. Mind you, this only happens in the morning when she is desperate to be OUT!!! At night, she preens and falls asleep.

It’s been an interesting couple of days… and not without drama. I’m also wondering how it is that my blog has turned into a chronicle of guinea fowl tales and not much else. This is going to have to be rectified. But what with life revolving around a single guinea chick, article writing and manuscript editing it’s not like I have a lot to say anyway.

The guinea pig pen now lives permanently in the garden and is Bo’s “dayroom”, at night, she sleeps in the dog traveling cage. On Sunday, her family turned up again and so sweetly spent the day with her – first in the sunroom (!!!) and then out on the lawn, the chicks perching on top of the pen and mum hanging around nearby. It soothed Bo no end, but set her off something horrible each time they wandered off.

Guineas in the sunroom...

Bo's siblings are double her size...

A family visit - mum and siblings

Additionally, Stroppy Old Fart and his missus turned up – and what a miserable pair they are. They harassed Bo something rotten and Mrs SOF insisted on trying to peck Bo through the bars of the pen. And so started the Great Guinea Fowl Chase as I proceeded to shoo the SOF’s away. First of all herding them around the pool and then running at them until they took off in a flurry of wings and screeches. Not that it stopped them; they just came back for more. Mr SOF had shoes flung at him and Mrs SOF was inspired to do a very impressive vertical take off when cornered at the edge of the pool by D and me. I suspect it might have been worthy of an Animal Capers award…

The Stroppy's harass Bo

Mrs Stroppy

Yesterday Bo made a bid to escape - and succeeded. She’d woken up in a feisty mood and full of “views” and as D was putting her into the pen, she gave a mighty wriggle, fluttered from his hand and disappeared into the depths of the shrubbery, muttering “Ha!” and intent on not being caught. So we left her to it, wondering if her family would return (they didn’t), or whether the sparrowhawk would fly in for a quick snack (he didn’t). She spent the day pootling around the garden and periodically pretending to be a dove. The two guineas that appeared in the garden studiously ignored her. Come evening, we decided to try and catch her again to get her inside and finally cornered her amongst the mother in law’s tongues. I swear I heard her mutter “oh #@%$ it!” as I nabbed her. But it had clearly been a busy day because as soon as I put her under my shirt she went to sleep and once on top of Gilbert, aside from another “&%$#@ off!” she didn’t emerge until this morning.

Bo finds her wings
(developmentally, she seems to be about three weeks behind her siblings, but what she lacks in size, she makes up for in spirit)

As I type this she is peeping in her indoor cage while the garden service tidy up the mess that has become the garden. Given that she still can’t fly properly, on the weekend D will make a bigger addition to slot alongside the guinea pig pen and Bo will have more room of her own. Tonight he plans to get her to fly - don't ask, I'm not. Let it not be said that we’re neglecting our guinea duties… I’m wondering, quite honestly, if any semblance of normality will ever return or whether I too will soon start ba-kaaking…

All together