|The boys of summer leave in the fall|
Night before last what was probably a weasel killed the last white guinea keet. Well, really they aren't keets anymore, but not quite full grown either.
|Now, how did I get up here...and how do I get down?|
Thus Liz moved the rest of them to the big chicken coop and Laura and her rooster to the peacock coop.
Except for this one. If turkeys have the reputation for not being likely candidates for Mensa, it is guinea fowl which come right from the factory devoid of anybody home upstairs but a rapidly whirling hamster on crack.
Programmed to panic, so to speak.
This one shot out of the top of the little coop when Liz lifted the roof panel, like a bean out of a pea shooter shot by a tornado.
|Oh, no, here comes the person who raised me from the egg and fed me every day|
Flee, flee I tell you, flee!!!!
I was upstairs picking up laundry when it hit the window of the room I was in. And clung, frantic, to the crossbar before falling to the porch roof. Then it went up on the big roof.
They chased it, lured it, tried to trap it, all afternoon.
No soap. This is one of the same birds that came running in their little yard, whenever I went out, in case I might stop to feed them drop apples or fallen grapes....the little ingrate....or maybe ingrape.
And this morning, having somehow evaded foxes and other varmints all night, it is still, not unlike the new mercury light bulbs, not quite bright enough to do its job. Such as roosting in a tree, for Pete's sake.
We have lots of trees.
Alas, the turkeys go today and I will miss them, but Thanksgiving dinner was always their fate. More next year I truly hope.
And incidentally, one of my very first blog friends has written a whole bunch of good ones lately. Rather than link to just one post, you could just go check out her whole blog.
|Why, yes, that lump out in the snow on the back lawn is the stupidest of domestic fowl|
Why do you ask?