Fridays on the Farm
I am a guinea. No wait, I am a horse. No, no, no, I am certainly a guinea. Wait, if I am a guinea then why do I feel like I am a horse?
Before you pass me off as some sort of stark raving lunatic please rest assured that I am most certainly probably some sort of stark raving lunatic. But hey, I can explain!
It all started about 2 years ago when I was hatched out in a little nest deep amongst a thicket of blackberry bushes. Mama guinea promptly led me and my 18 siblings through the dewy grass and boom, our numbers were down to 15. It was cold, we were merely 6 hours old but allegedly mama guinea had a hankering for some chicken feed so we just had to get up and go. Wet cold grass does not do well for newborn guinea keets. No “Mother of the Year” awards there.
Well, on the way to the grand buffet Mama guinea thought it best to parade us past a crew of shady felines. Sure enough, numbers down to 12. Seriously… all this in a mere first day of life. Wow oh wow.
We made it to the hen house where we met up with a crazy chicken feeding lady who actually wanted to PICK US UP! The nerve of that woman! I ran, Mama guinea ran, and all the rest of my brothers and sisters ran… some straight into an area with a couple goats who totally freaked out (ridiculous) and stomped around like elephants being attacked by mice. Down to 10 we were.
However, this woman was smart and apparently had some sort of clue about how totally ill-equipped our mother was in the area of “keet care.” We were all rounded up (Mama guinea too and man did she put up a fuss… pretty sure there was human blood shed) and placed in a fenced in area with a nice warm snuggly mini sun, fresh water, and amazing food. Now this I could get used to.
Mama guinea kept freaking out, flew up and straight through a clear opening making a loud crashing noise breaking what I would later come to find out is a “garage door window.” To say she “flew the coop” would be an understatement of the century.
We all just kinda looked around in bewilderment and then went back to eating, drinking, and sleeping all snuggly under that mini sun.
We kept eating and drinking, growing bigger and bigger, and were being gently handled often which actually wasn’t all that bad. It wasn’t great but it wasn’t really bad. I’m not sure why we freaked out all those years ago (actually only months but it sure seems like forever ago when you are abandoned by a Mama who will crash through windows to get away from her parental responsibilities).
When we got big enough to not be cat bait we were allowed to head out and explore the world that we had been kept sheltered from for oh so many years (once again, just a couple months) and it was quite wonderful. We explored the woods, attempted to escape Mr. Fox who we found out later was not just trying to share his candy, he wanted to eat us! Our numbers went down to 6. If we stuck around the farm we were well protected by Fuzzy Bear, the big white fluffy dog who claimed day and night she was a German Shepherd but looked nothing like the other 3 German Shepherds on the farm. Seriously, someone needs to talk to that girl about her identity crisis… crazy, just crazy, thinking you are something you are not. Pure denial, I call for an intervention!
We would head over through the dense deciduous depths to the neighbor’s house a few acres away and partake of amazing cat food, millet, and black oil sunflower seeds. The neighbor thought we were a rare wild species of game bird sent straight from heavens above to entertain and bless him with our presence. Who were we to tell him any different?
A couple of my “not the sharpest tool in the shed” brothers decided to head across the road to check out the dining selection over yonder and suddenly a great noise, flash of metal, and gust of wind came by… our numbers were down to 3. Me and my two sisters, that’s all. It had been a rough 5 months.
We headed back home and ran into Mama guinea and her husband (why had we never seen him before… is this Dada guinea?!?!). She was sitting on a nest just full of eggs! I knew how that was going to end up… seriously some sort of protective service agency should be called right now… darn my lack of opposable thumbs and lack of telephone knowledge in general.
We would later find out that her stubbornness and superior nest hiding abilities made her and Dada guinea an easy target for Mr. Fox that night. We had seen the chicken feeder lady look for Mama and Dada guinea and their nest earlier to move everyone and everything to a safe place but I just wasn’t feeling up to showing her the way, it had been a long day and I was just wanting to snuggle under my mini sun.
The weeks went by and you’ll never believe what happened… My two sisters started laying eggs. Just going around and dropping these little speckled white things out of their little behinds. How weird is that! It creeped me out s I distanced myself from them and started looking for new friends to hang out with.
That’s when I found them, Mercedez and Pepsi. Two of the most salt f the earth folks you will ever find. Not prone to gossip as my sisters were and the little brown eggs that sprang forth from their nether regions actually attracted some of the best beetles and bugs to feast upon. This, yes sir, this, was the good life. They would rummage through the hay, perfectly sifting the seed heads down for me to eat to my heart’s content and I would stand guard as they lay down and dozed the warm afternoons away. It was the most perfect relationship and they just seemed to really “get” me as I “got” them.
Things went on in much the same fashion and the guinea population number dwindled as their less than intelligent ways found them in more and more predicaments that the chicken feeder lady just could not save them from. My time with the horses grew me in ways you probably can’t understand. We were like a well oiled machine, each knowing our part and place in the herd and no one getting their feathers ruffled by the latest farm scandal news.
I had found a true love for the grain and sunflower seeds that were fed to Mercedez and Pepsi and they were always so kind to share abundantly. I really felt like I belonged. The goats, dogs, sheep, cats, and rabbits were chased away but me, nope, I was always welcomed with open hooves. More and more time went by and as I looked around I saw less and less guinea tracks in the dirt. More and more empty dust bathing holes and the farm just seemed quieter. Then it hit me, I was the last one… the last guinea. The last of the Mohicans… errrr, I mean guineas. I was a survivor.
I quickly realized I was different from all those other guineas that had gone before me. I was resourceful, quick, sly, wary, always on guard… not like a guinea at all…
I… was… a… horse. It all made perfect sense now. My keen senses, my love for all things seed and grain rather than tick and chicken feed. My lightning fast reflexes and constant urges to creepily stare through the windows at the lady chicken feeder and her family. Yes, I was certainly a horse stuck in a guinea’s body. I only hope some day medical knowledge will catch up and help me in my present condition. Men becoming women, women becoming men, why not guineas becoming horses when they know truly in the depth of their being that is what they are. Sound crazy? Yup, it is but that’s me, just plain stone cold crazy.
Apparently my horseness has the family concerned and they thought it best to get me around more of “my kind”. More horses, are we getting more horses? Please more horses!
No such luck, the woman got more guineas. Obnoxious, loud, gossiping, tick eating, egg dropping, and unintelligent guineas. Great, just great! Worse yet, they want to be around me. This will never do, never. I have shunned them and for now it seems to be working but I see Pepsi has been talking to one in particular (not me, I feel betrayed) and even offered up some of his grain the other day (more betrayal). It is a saga of which I do not know the ending… stay tuned…