I previously posted some pictures of my garage guineas in another thread, but in order not to hijack that thread I've decided to post a separate thread for more details, plus a sweet little story about this morning's goings-on.
A while back I heard some cheeping in Gosland, my fenced in pasture, and discovered a mama guinea I thought had disappeared to predators sitting on a nest with two newly hatched keets. I thought to myself I've got way too many guineas as is, so I'll leave these to their fates and not intervene in any way.
Over the next three or four days I noticed the hen's mate keeping a respectful, yet watchful distance as she continued to sit on the nest. Then suddenly I woke up to do the morning chores, and both hen and cock were up and wandering without any sign of the keets anywhere, and a nest of maybe 40 guinea eggs still unhatched. I'm still blown away I never noticed such a large nest in my treks through Gosland. I figured the keets had probably been discovered by a snake or opossum, thought that was that and proceeded on with letting birds out and feeding the feathered, bottomless pigs people call muscovies.
Around 2 I head out for the midday feed and water refresh and stop in my tracks because I hear something, like feeble cheeping. In my search for the source I almost step on one of the keets tangled up in the wet grass. This one had it's eyes closed and wasn't moving. The other one was a few feet away, still able to cheep but barely better off than its sibling. The parents hadn't forgotten them; they were standing by, keeping watch but unclear on how to rescue their young from an enemy as cunning as morning dew and a cool, drizzly day.
I immediately discarded my vow not to intervene, tucked those keets up into my armpits, and went inside to read a book until they were both dry and active again. Neither of them seemed particularly perturbed by being shoved unceremoniously into one of the least appealing areas of the human body - baby birds are always weirdly trusting and zen about life. I went out to set up a cage with a heat lamp in the garage for them, and left them there as I pondered how to get the parents back to their keets, and where on earth I was going to keep this little family until the young'ns were old enough to overcome a little moisture. As I stepped out into the garage again, nowhere nearer a solution, I stopped. The adults were at the cage I'd set up, trying to get their keets to come out. Okaaaay - slowly, slowly, try not to spook them . . . click! I punched the button to the garage doors, shutting them. The parents were so engrossed in their chicks their only reaction was to flinch and look up a moment. I had successfully trapped the family.
Now, I've I've wrangled with catching a mama guinea in an enclosed space before, and I wasn't about to attempt the same thing in my garage. So I just popped open the cage and let the keets out, resigning myself to at least a week of giving these birds free rein of my garage, followed by a thorough cleaning. You'd be astounded how much dust, poop, and filth is created by a family of four - and that goes for any species!
Yesterday was my first day of letting the group out. The keets had grown in enough feathers to join their mom on a roost so long as she didn't choose too high a perch, and the feathers were sturdy enough they wouldn't be immediately soaked by the mere mention of a dew drop. It was a happy day for the family, with the adults showing their keets all the joys of dust bathing and searching through grass for delicious morsels, how to avoid the mercurial moods of the geese, and where are the best spots to poop to get a rise out of the humans.
I was wondering where they'd wind up at night, and when I saw that they were in the guinea coop with the other adults when I went out to round everyone up fo the evening, I had my answer. The rest of the flock weren't being particularly kind to the keets, to put it mildly, so I dragged in some stuff to clutter up a corner where they could hide if need be. I did go out later that night to check on things. Both parents were on the roosting bars somewhere amongst the other adults and the keets were on the ground, comfortable enough on a warm night. I switched my head lamp to the red light just to go in and scooch them into the cluttered corner - I can't remember why I wanted to do this, but I did. Before picking up one of the keets, I had had no idea which of the roosting guineas was their mom. After that moment, I knew exactly who she was, because she was tangled in my hair, screeching at me and trying to tear apart my face. I beat a hasty retreat and left her to deal with her keets as she saw fit.
This morning I opened the coop door, and as usual the guineas streamed past me to do their guinea things for the day. I saw no sign of the keets, so I walked towards the clutter until a couple tiny feather balls shot past me. For a moment I wondered where the parents were - had they been so excited at the opening of the coop door they'd forgotten they had responsibilities? Then the mama came clambering out of the clutter, guiding her keets out the door and . . . stopping.
She was clearly cautious and confused. Where was the dad? I knew guinea cocks played an active role in parenting, but I didn't realize just how off kilter the hen would act without her man. She was clearly unwilling to do much of anything without him within sight. But where was he? Had he renounced married life, running off with the other bachelors to become a deadbeat dad? Was he amongst the group milling about the driveway? I wouldn't be able to tell, myself, and the hen wasn't behaving like she recognized any of them as her mate.
As I stood there scanning the guineas, wishing they were as simple to tell apart as geese, I suddenly saw a guinea come bolting out of the garage, bee lining for the guinea coop. The father guinea, having stayed roosting with the other guineas, didn't realize his family was hidden on the ground amongst the coop clutter. So naturally when I opened the coop he headed straight to where his guinea brain rationalized they'd most likely be - in the garage where they'd all been holed up together for the past week or so. When he couldn't find them there, he frantically made his way back to the guinea coop to double check, and when he noticed them meandering outside of it he visibly calmed down and headed to the hen's side. The hen rediscovered her courage, and once again they've set off for a day of showing their keets the ins and outs of surviving as domesticated guineas.
A while back I heard some cheeping in Gosland, my fenced in pasture, and discovered a mama guinea I thought had disappeared to predators sitting on a nest with two newly hatched keets. I thought to myself I've got way too many guineas as is, so I'll leave these to their fates and not intervene in any way.
Over the next three or four days I noticed the hen's mate keeping a respectful, yet watchful distance as she continued to sit on the nest. Then suddenly I woke up to do the morning chores, and both hen and cock were up and wandering without any sign of the keets anywhere, and a nest of maybe 40 guinea eggs still unhatched. I'm still blown away I never noticed such a large nest in my treks through Gosland. I figured the keets had probably been discovered by a snake or opossum, thought that was that and proceeded on with letting birds out and feeding the feathered, bottomless pigs people call muscovies.
Around 2 I head out for the midday feed and water refresh and stop in my tracks because I hear something, like feeble cheeping. In my search for the source I almost step on one of the keets tangled up in the wet grass. This one had it's eyes closed and wasn't moving. The other one was a few feet away, still able to cheep but barely better off than its sibling. The parents hadn't forgotten them; they were standing by, keeping watch but unclear on how to rescue their young from an enemy as cunning as morning dew and a cool, drizzly day.
I immediately discarded my vow not to intervene, tucked those keets up into my armpits, and went inside to read a book until they were both dry and active again. Neither of them seemed particularly perturbed by being shoved unceremoniously into one of the least appealing areas of the human body - baby birds are always weirdly trusting and zen about life. I went out to set up a cage with a heat lamp in the garage for them, and left them there as I pondered how to get the parents back to their keets, and where on earth I was going to keep this little family until the young'ns were old enough to overcome a little moisture. As I stepped out into the garage again, nowhere nearer a solution, I stopped. The adults were at the cage I'd set up, trying to get their keets to come out. Okaaaay - slowly, slowly, try not to spook them . . . click! I punched the button to the garage doors, shutting them. The parents were so engrossed in their chicks their only reaction was to flinch and look up a moment. I had successfully trapped the family.
Now, I've I've wrangled with catching a mama guinea in an enclosed space before, and I wasn't about to attempt the same thing in my garage. So I just popped open the cage and let the keets out, resigning myself to at least a week of giving these birds free rein of my garage, followed by a thorough cleaning. You'd be astounded how much dust, poop, and filth is created by a family of four - and that goes for any species!
Yesterday was my first day of letting the group out. The keets had grown in enough feathers to join their mom on a roost so long as she didn't choose too high a perch, and the feathers were sturdy enough they wouldn't be immediately soaked by the mere mention of a dew drop. It was a happy day for the family, with the adults showing their keets all the joys of dust bathing and searching through grass for delicious morsels, how to avoid the mercurial moods of the geese, and where are the best spots to poop to get a rise out of the humans.
I was wondering where they'd wind up at night, and when I saw that they were in the guinea coop with the other adults when I went out to round everyone up fo the evening, I had my answer. The rest of the flock weren't being particularly kind to the keets, to put it mildly, so I dragged in some stuff to clutter up a corner where they could hide if need be. I did go out later that night to check on things. Both parents were on the roosting bars somewhere amongst the other adults and the keets were on the ground, comfortable enough on a warm night. I switched my head lamp to the red light just to go in and scooch them into the cluttered corner - I can't remember why I wanted to do this, but I did. Before picking up one of the keets, I had had no idea which of the roosting guineas was their mom. After that moment, I knew exactly who she was, because she was tangled in my hair, screeching at me and trying to tear apart my face. I beat a hasty retreat and left her to deal with her keets as she saw fit.
This morning I opened the coop door, and as usual the guineas streamed past me to do their guinea things for the day. I saw no sign of the keets, so I walked towards the clutter until a couple tiny feather balls shot past me. For a moment I wondered where the parents were - had they been so excited at the opening of the coop door they'd forgotten they had responsibilities? Then the mama came clambering out of the clutter, guiding her keets out the door and . . . stopping.
She was clearly cautious and confused. Where was the dad? I knew guinea cocks played an active role in parenting, but I didn't realize just how off kilter the hen would act without her man. She was clearly unwilling to do much of anything without him within sight. But where was he? Had he renounced married life, running off with the other bachelors to become a deadbeat dad? Was he amongst the group milling about the driveway? I wouldn't be able to tell, myself, and the hen wasn't behaving like she recognized any of them as her mate.
As I stood there scanning the guineas, wishing they were as simple to tell apart as geese, I suddenly saw a guinea come bolting out of the garage, bee lining for the guinea coop. The father guinea, having stayed roosting with the other guineas, didn't realize his family was hidden on the ground amongst the coop clutter. So naturally when I opened the coop he headed straight to where his guinea brain rationalized they'd most likely be - in the garage where they'd all been holed up together for the past week or so. When he couldn't find them there, he frantically made his way back to the guinea coop to double check, and when he noticed them meandering outside of it he visibly calmed down and headed to the hen's side. The hen rediscovered her courage, and once again they've set off for a day of showing their keets the ins and outs of surviving as domesticated guineas.
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