Excuse me, sir, there's a goose in my pool...

Er, excuse me, there's a goose in my pool...

I appear to have acquired a goose. Not intentionally mind. It just turned up this morning. I glanced out the window and there it was paddling in the pool. It’s not like I need additions to the menagerie given guinea fowl keet season is upon us.

A mighty fine flap...

I introduced myself to the goose. He said his name was Hubert.

“Hubert?” I asked, “That’s a funny sort of name for a goose. Actually, I took you more for a Humbert. You know, Humbert Humbert, because you’ve got a saucy look about you.”

Hubert glowered at me with a beady eye and rasped, “I fear you have me confused with Duck a la Orange – and we are so not going there. No, no, don’t even say it.”

I didn’t it, but my head was suddenly filled with visions of Goose a la Armagnac – and he is such a nice plump bird…

Moi? Goose a la Armagnac? I think not!

A quick drink, I think, one for the road, you know...

The other recent “acquisition” is a pintailed whydah. The bird in question is a breeding male and a right stroppy little sod.

Attitudinally challenged bird...

When he’s not desporting himself in front of the female and attempting to tickle and tantalize her with his tail feathers (and possible his noodly appendage, though my eyes aren’t that good), he spends the bulk of the day attacking the other male pintailed whydah in the garden. That would be his reflection of course. He’s sworn to a duel until death, though I fear at this rate, all he’ll end up with is a very sore head.

The dance of lurve...

Death to the rival!

I should add, he has also driven practically every other bird from the garden and has no issue at all with dive bombing the doves and guinea fowl. Like a small terrier, he clearly has no concept of his own extremely tiny size.

Ya lookin' at me? Huh? Huh?

Wanna make something of it? Huh? Huh?

As for the squirrels, there has been a War on Suet. I’ll let the pictures speak for themselves. Suffice it to say, we have finally managed to thwart the little buggers, but that has, in turn, completely reduced the entertainment factor. Oh well.

Can I leap, or do I climb? Oh the decisions!

Climb, I think....

Nommy-nom-nom...

Er, now how to disembark...?

Oh shit...

S'perilous place to be hanging...

There will now be a short blogging hiatus as I go off and do important writer-ly things. See you on the flip side.

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: Here we go - AGAIN!!!

Ms Bo - whaddayamean, there are no more worms?!

I had nothing to do with it this time, honest, I didn’t. I was playing in the digital darkroom when I heard the garage door swing open. I expected D to come walking in but when he didn’t, I went out to investigate.
What greeted me was the sight of D standing in the driveway, his hands in his hair, muttering.
“They followed me in, I couldn’t stop them.” His words were accompanied by lots of small meeping sounds.
“They were waiting for me,” he said, shaking his head, “I swear they were. I opened the gate, drove in and as I was about to close the gate, there they all were, walking in.”
“Open the gate again,” I said, “And let’s see if they’ll all walk out.”
D opened the gate. Mama Guinea gave him a long look, peered out into the road, turned tail and headed up the driveway, trailed by peeps.
Well, what can I say, we have fluffball blessings again. 13 of them when they arrived but I’m not going to try and keep count this time, it’s just too stressful.
They are tiny, smaller, I swear, than when Bo and her family first arrived back in October, and some are still quite wobbly on their little pins.
So here we go again – exit a neat and tidy garden, enter loads of pooh and scratched up soil all over the paving. Goodbye garden service, hello stress and mayhem. Ho and hum.
And for those of you cooing and laughing right now, I say “humph!” - may the bluebird of happiness fly overhead and do just what flying bluebirds do. I swear if I could but find the sign that says, “Guinea Fowl Sanctuary and Orphanage – All Welcome”, I’d pull it down. I’d put up one that says, “Inn Full, innkeepers knackered – try next door”.
Bo is beside herself with all the new life – behaving like a maiden aunt on speed. Who knows where it will all end. At least I can say, by way of an update on Missy Bo, that she’s growing, her wings are getting stronger and she’s pigging out on D’s cultivar of maggots and mealworms.

I leave you with pictures to tell the rest of the story.

Small peeps arrive in the driveway...

Portrait of a Guinea keet...

Guineas find their way into the garden...

Wha'!? Oh no! Not more!

Guineas, en famille...

Ms Bo looks on

Il Madonna del giardino - Mother and Child

The Menagerie...