The Guinea Fowl Chronicles: An unfolding drama

Lest anyone think it is all fun and laughter in the place of the Guinea Fowl Chronicles, let me assure you, it’s not.

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 Guinea

I 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 wistful

It’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

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.

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.

I'm back - and the guinea fowl chronicles continue...

A family visit

So... did ya miss me? Not too much, I hope?! Well, I'm back. In one piece, much mended - still a bit achey but nothing remotely drastic. A week of physiotherapy saw me right and let me tell you, being one handed for a week - with the non-dominant hand - was no fun at all. Mind you, it's good for weight loss - couldn't cook and struggled to eat.

I owe Karen over at Border Town Notes a meme - don't worry, I haven't forgotten, I'll do it next post.

Meanwhile a quick update on Ms Bo - who is definitely a Ms now that we can tell her voice. By that I mean this: female guineas go "ba-kaak", male guineas just make a "chi chi chi" sound which sounds a lot like machine gun fire. Ms Bo is making small and sweet ba-kaak sounds. At least that's confirmed.

Her family, who've been absent for a good few weeks finally turned up again last week. Yikes! You should see the size of her two remaining siblings. Huge. More than double her size, and not far off adult size - you can see for yourself...

So much bigger than me...

He ain't heavy, he's my brother...

You can tell from the pics how small, by comparison, little Bo Peep is. Worrying. However, I'm told by the rather wonderful man over at the Guinea Fowl International Association, who has kinda of befriended me - or rather Ms Bo, I suspect! - that even keets (chicks) which are slow to develop like this, can still make it. Our zoologist friend echoes the sentiment. True, in the wild, Ms Bo would not have survived, but there's no reason for her not to make it, living the protected and cosseted life with us. So yes, this means we are still grubbing in the compost for bugs and worms and Ms Bo has an insatiable appetite. However, it seems to be a case of trying to find the balance. I'm kinda hoping that now that the International Guinea Fowl Association have found us (oh yay for the great interwebby thing!), they will offer advice on what we need to do - even though Ms Bo is a wild bird and most of their birds are captive bred. And I have to tell you, I didn't realise there so many different "looks" for guinea fowl!

Meanwhile, in case you're wondering if it's snowing down here, it is most certainly not.

Collared Dove taking a cooling dip in the water feature!

Yesterday was 35 degrees C! and we woke up this morning to a mountain swathed in smoke and the smell of bush fire drifting on the breeze. My kitchen counter tops are covered in ash but I can't see where the fire actually is because the mountain is mostly obscured by the smoke. I think it's going to be a bad summer in this regard, it just feels like the mountain is ready to go up in flames. I do so hope people having picnics on the mountain will be careful.

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

Bo Peep and a weirdly, randomly meme

Bo gets a visitor - no, this isn't a member of her family

Apologies for a being a tad absent at the moment, but life’s been a bit silly and the next stage of editing is beginning, which means I’m off with my head in a story. Meanwhile Operation Bo continues and when we last saw the family, they were down to two chicks – meaning another had disappeared overnight. We think the majority of the chicks were taken by the howling storm that hit the south western Cape on Tuesday night and lasted for two days. It was the worst storm in 30 years, had wind speeds that went right off the graph, and caused massive flooding and destruction. While the storm raged, Bo, much to her indignation, was kept indoors and today was the first day we moved the guinea pig pen, now the guinea fowl pen, outdoors and onto the grass. Although it didn’t stop her from trying to escape, she’s a much happier little bird for being outside. Meanwhile the old dog traveling cage, big enough to house a large Golden Retriever, has been pressed into service as the inside guinea house. It’s high enough to give her space to fly a bit and we’re trying to encourage her to use her wings. As an aside and working on a hunch, I’ve also discovered she’s particularly partial to freshly squished snail…and made a right piggy of herself guzzling it down. The plan is to release her as soon as she has her wings (the sparrowhawk’s forays into the garden notwithstanding) at a time when her family is here. By comparison to the two remaining chicks, Bo remains very small, but she is growing. D reminded me of a bulldog pup his mum bred some years ago – a runt, so tiny as to be pathetic, yet after a year he grew into the biggest bulldog they’d ever seen. I’m hoping Bo will make it to Guinea Queen!

Bo munches on a snail

Guineas aside, the lovely Val over at Monkeys on the Roof (do go and read her blog, it’s wonderful) has tagged me for the Seven Weird or Random Things About Me meme. I’ve been tagged for this once before and that chicken was “good enough” to do said meme. I guess this time I’m just going to have to answer it myself.

The idea is to reveal seven random and or weird things about myself. Hmm, I hope you’re up for this…

The rules are:
1. Link to your tagger and list these rules on your blog.
2. Share 7 facts about yourself - some random, some weird.
3. Tag 7 people at the end of your post by leaving their names as well as links to their blogs.
4. Let them know they have been tagged by leaving a comment on their blogs.

So here goes nothin’…

1. I have met and embraced death and look forward to going home.

2. At the tender age of 47 I’m pleased to say I can still do the splits and can still get my forehead on the ground while sitting with my legs stretched out to the sides.

3. I’ve had two close encounters with leopards in the wild.

4. I’ve eaten a wide variety of weird and wonderful things from elephant to giraffe, mopani worms to snails, frogs’ legs to snake, crocodile to shark.

5. I weigh the same now as I did at 23 years ago – which I figure isn’t too bad.

6. I wrote my first play when I was eight and charged the neighbourhood kids 5 cents to watch it. It was set on rollerskates, thus predating Starlight Express by several years. Performed on our back porch, it ran for precisely one day.

7. I have travelled most of the world, though strangely have never been to the USA.


Now, to tagging… I tag:

Gaye
Lori Ann
Miladysa
Janey
Lane
Ello
Megan

Oh go on, ya know you wanna… :-)

The Guinea Fowl Chronicles - Lil' Bo Peep SOS

Little Bo Peep

I was planning on showing you flying lessons pics today, but flying appears to have come to no good. What I mean is that on Monday there were 13 or 14 guinea fowl chicks. Now there are three. I cannot for the life of me believe that the adult flock has managed to lose literally all their chicks overnight. I’m hoping that perhaps the flock have split up but I’m thinking that might be a frail sort of hope.

On Tuesday there were about seven chicks. On Tuesday night only Bo and her sibling Mo’ (as in Mo’ Peep ie More Peep) were in the garden. A hellish and very unseasonable storm was brewing. The temperatures had plummeted and the wind was howling. We wondered if we should try and catch Bo and Mo’ but decided nature should be left to take its course… The rest of the guineas had leapt the wall by then and these two were left all alone to find a place to sleep on the ground. By Wednesday morning I heard Mo’ in the driveway, but when I tried to find him, he ducked away, never to be seen again. Meanwhile, another chick fluttered out of the trees from seemingly nowhere and joined little Bo. It was pissing with rain, freezing cold and the garden was sodden – and not an adult guinea was anywhere to be seen. Two adult stragglers who appeared in the garden were totally soaked and miserable and I didn’t think there was much hope of Bo or the other chick surviving without adult attention – or human intervention. See, here’s the thing about Lil’ Bo, she just isn’t very big. The other chicks from the same hatch are two to three times her size, and although she is strong in spirit, size-wise, she’s just not making it.

I decided, having splashed around the garden for a couple of hours, that it was time to get involved. Left on her own, unable to fly, she would just not survive. I called D at work and asked him to come home and help with Operation Bo.

We eventually cornered her behind some planters and put her and Gilbert in a box. Literally five minutes later, the adult flock appeared with the princely number of two chicks - two, out of the original fourteen that had been around on Monday. They managed to round up the third chick, who, by force of necessity had learnt its wings but who was cold and shivering and who kept trying to huddle under an adult for warmth, only to have the adults walk away.

When D came home from work he was carrying a large guinea pig pen. Guinea pigs, guinea fowls… It’s about a meter square and 47 cms high. We laid down paper, warmed up Gilbert, put in a small towel, food, water and a few logs and popped Bo into her new abode and covered the pen with towels and left her to it.

The guinea pig pen, Bo's temporary sheltered accommodation, which now fills up most of the sunroom...

Introducing Gilbert

The idea is that as soon as the weather improves and Bo has found her wings, we’ll let her go. The poor mite is not very happy being caged and I don’t blame her but until she can fly off with the adults and roost in trees she stands little hope of survival. Of course, this assumes the adults will come back for her – they may, they may not. They were here this morning, with three chicks. They ate, huddled, scratched in the ground a bit and then left. I’m hoping that if they return regularly, I can eventually let her out when they’re here. They seem to “know” she’s here, they can hear her plaintive peeping and she obviously knows there’s a whole world out there.

Lil' Bo Peep Leap...

I hate having intervened, I’d prefer for nature to take its course but this little bird is quite unique. Aside from being so tiny, she is very feisty and yet stoic. She’s a free soul and has a strong spirit. She’s often scuttled around the garden alone, unconcerned when the rest of her flock have mooched on to another corner. I don’t know if we’ve done the right thing, I don’t know how long my head will survive the plaintive peeping and the sight of this small creature so desperate for her freedom, no matter the cost. I’m hoping that long term interests will win out ultimately over short term concerns and that Bo will have her freedom and reach adulthood. One can but try, I guess.

Lemme out!

There has to be a way to freedom

Guinea fowl in guinea pig pen...

Bo Leap...