A bird returns

Last weekend, our only remaining Guinea fowl started calling in the evening. At first, I thought one of our chickens was in terrible distress as I heard a two-noted squawk that was repeated so often it grew a little bit hoarse. It sounded like the bird was calling, "Go back! Go back!" At the time I noticed it, Ian was marching in the direction of our chicken house with a shovel, and I assumed that something dreadful had happened and that I would hear about it later. Nothing dreadful happened, though. It was just our poor little bird calling its mates. I could hardly stand to sit on the deck listening to this, and I planned to call up my friend Molly and ask if our Guinea fowl could join her menagerie of free range chickens and turkeys. Maybe the lonely bird would be comforted by the company of Molly’s laying hens. I could appreciate that an animal born to live in a flock would feel miserable on its own.

I had not called my friend yet when Ian reported that a second Guinea hen had joined our lonely bird. It was sitting on the top of the calf hutch. Ian let the other bird inside, and the two of them stayed in the calf hutch for several days, both of them calling "Go back! Go back!" in the evenings. I expect they were trying to call the rest of the flock, but they were unsuccessful.

Then, one day, the hutch was empty. For couple of days, we did not see the birds, but I listened to unusual squawks in the trees around our house and thought that the pair had stayed close by. Later, Ian spotted two birds with long necks peeking out of the tall grass by the edge of the soybean field. They commented loudly on his presence, and he reported that he was very happy to see them. I got to see the birds today when the same striped cat that scared most of them way in the first place flushed them out of some tall grass by our garage. They flew in separate directions and landed maybe 20 feet up in trees. I could clearly see one of the beautiful white birds up in the maple, looking like something tropical. I worried for a moment that they might have a hard time finding each other again after flying in separate directions like that, but then I put that concern to rest. They have powerful voices.

I scolded our striped cat who rubbed against me adoringly as he always does. He didn't chase the chickens or the ducks, but apparently Guinea fowl are another matter. I do not always understand the logic of felines, and I wish that the striped cat was not such a beloved friend of mine. He is though, and I am once again bewildered about how to proceed.