Polka Dot Poultry

“They’re terrorizing my chickens,” said our neighbor. His tone was pleasant and mild.

“If you need them to run away and join the circus, we can do that for you,” I replied.

So 6 Guinea fowl joined the farm menagerie. Bob and I decided to test their flavor before we decided what to do with the others. I approached their crate with murderous intent. The flighty fowl panicked, flapping wildly in their filthy crates.

“Well, I can’t blame you,” I said as I wiped Guinea poop off my eyelashes.

The farm lunch consensus was that Guinea fowl are delicious. The remaining four got a stay of execution because I needed to make cheese on Thursday. I’m not the most hygiene-conscious person in the world, but I refuse to make cheese while spattered with fowl crap.

Guinea fowl emit a demonic racket that makes me think of them as heavy metal fans, or chickens with chainsaws. Daniel and I woke up to their squeaky chorus in the front yard. At least they get going later than the 5 a.m. roosters.

“It’s the Guinea fowl,” I said as I pulled a pillow over my ears.

Daniel chanted, “Gimme a U! Gimme an I! Gimme an E! Gimme an A! Gimme an O! It’s the bird with every vowel in its name!”

RIP Guineas.