Oklahoma Dreaming: Freedom
by Donna Schoenkopf
It was time, according to Bob the Guinea Guy, to let the guineas out of their coop.
And it certainly WAS time. The little darlings had begun to peck each other. Not a lot, but I saw one or two of them make moves on their coop-mates that were definitely not friendly. The coop was fast becoming a place too small, too limited for their health.
I was terribly excited. I'm not one to cage ANYTHING and I had been looking forward to this moment for three years. That's counting the time I spent daydreaming about my property before I moved there. A flock of guineas, meandering over the landscape, eating ticks and keeping snakes at bay, speckled feathers and goofy heads. Another beautiful thing here at Chigger Lake.
Here are Bob's instructions:
Let them out two at a time for two days. They will stay close to the coop, being flock animals. They will roost in the tallest possible place. If you follow the instructions, they will not run away. (I had to laugh inwardly when I heard the words "run away" ... can't you see them, running as fast as they can, looking back over their shoulders, saying, "We're OUTTA here!!")
So I did let them out.
My coop was up against my shed. Not much grows around it. The clay is packed and hot. But there is a lot of stuff under that coop. Old bird feed, poo, straw and wood shavings. And shade. An important note: It's been over 100 degrees for two weeks around here. BAKING HOT!! I'm actually praying for rain.
I took the first two out. One was a rooster and the other was a hen. I can tell by the red thingies, you know, the gobbler thingies, that hang from their faces. The male's kind of curves forward and he also makes one caw, whereas the female's thingie just hangs straight down. She makes two caws. ANYWAY, after I let them out a female leader type (let's call her Mother Jones) would call to the two on the outside. She was nervous and wanted them to get back in the cage.
The first two Freedom Riders took to the outside immediately. They LOVED it. They got under the coop and rolled around in the debris, using their wings to scoop up the dirt and crap and douse their bodies with it. Ever see elephants in dust and water baths? Yeah, just like that. They lay on their sides and snuggled underneath all that stuff and had a wonderful time.
So far, so good. I sat in my green lawn chair, just to watch. It was so interesting that I withstood the sweating and heat that was frying me.
Here are my notes:
CheGuevara the Kitten wanders up and wants to eat them. He crouches for the kill. I scoop him up and put him in the house. Then I realize Rosie the Cat is outside somewhere and for SURE will kill them as she's a notorious bird-killer, so I stay out there to guard the guineas until I can get her back in the house. For two hours I wait for her, and finally I succeed in grabbing her and putting her in the house.
I watch as the guineas find the high grass and wildflowers that grow in the erosion ditch that was formed by my outdoor shower runoff down the hill. They love the shade and the protection. I realize they're very thirsty, so I put out the famous steel bowl with cool water in it, the same bowl that they wouldn't go near when I put it in their coop. And, surprise, they are STILL scared of it. I turn on my outdoor shower to let the water run down the ditch for them. They're scared of that, too. Shit.
I go to the feed store and get a water dispenser exactly like the one in the coop. They like it.
I look up and see three hawks circling. Hmmmm. I bring out some pasta and pesto sauce for lunch, my book, and my hat, and keep watch. It's REALLY hot. Sweat is pouring off me. I accidentally drop my lunch in the dirt. Damn.
I watch the guineas in the coop. They are lying flat on the floor of the wire cage. They are watching their buddies underneath. They are making sounds I've never heard before. Almost like purring. Sort of like beckoning to them to come back. Their language is very understandable.
I am learning guinea language ... joy, excitement, fear, anxiety, commands, just from their tones.
Mother Jones BARKS at them when the two get too far away from the cage.
I am reluctant to go in, but I have been here for hours and it's time to let go. Day One ... success.
The next morning I go out, fearing the worst. But there they are!! My two wonderful guineas. Chirruping and happy. One flies down off the roof of my house when I walk outside. The other wanders up the hill from somewhere. Yaaaaaayyyyy! I am so proud of them!!!
But I decide the roof is not a safe place for them at night. Owls, you know. Trees are better cover. So I decide to move the coop down the hill to a little grove of three oaks and briars. This is not easy with my shoulder being all messed up. But I do it. Lift one end, swing around, let it down, pick up other end, swing around, let it down. It takes me a while to get there, with seven guineas inside, but I manage. Then a problem with finding level ground. Get some boards (remember ... don't throw ANYTHING away ...), put them under the legs, maneuver, sweat, curse, get poked by briars and then stand back and smile. The coop looks good. The free guineas run over and take their places under it. All's well.
Evening comes. The Freedom Riders perch on top of the coop. They even let me touch them. That makes me nervous. They aren't scared enough.
The next morning they are still there, and I let out two more. There are now four of them out. They carry on happily with each other in the grove of oaks, under the briars. The caged birds look on enviously. I don't hang out with them as much, but visit every little while to see how they're doing, checking their feed and water and refilling and talking to them. They are fine.
Out I go the following morning and there is only ONE guinea outside!!! She comes wandering up from the tall grass down the hill. She's not under the cage. I know instantly that something bad has happened. I praise her for coming, give her lots of feed. She eats half-heartedly. All the birds are strangely silent. They have been traumatized. I walk around the grove and discover guinea feathers. Yeah, something got three of them.
All day I am in a state of shock. I am also angry at the dumb shit guineas who WON'T fly up in the trees. I tell myself that I hate my life. I put two more out. Can't have a lone guinea out there and I can't catch the loose one. THEY BETTER LEARN HOW TO FLY UP TO THE TREES!
Then about 6:00, the three free guineas run down to the edge of the forest. I am very curious. After several minutes, HUGE cackling ensues. AND OUT COMES A GUINEA!!! Another one of them has survived!!! That little cutie had hidden in the forest all day. GOOD FOR HER!
I am so happy and proud I am dancing.
Night falls. I turn on all the outside lights, open all my sliding doors, get a big pot and big spoon and put them by the door nearest the coop, turn the sound on the tv low, and wait for the coyotes to come. I figure I'll bang the pot and scare them away. I'm sure I'll be able to hear whatever is going on out there. But I hear nothing. I go out into the dark, picking my way through the grass, making sure there are no snakes on the ground before me, and get to the coop. I don't see the guineas. My heart stops. Where the hell are they?? I call them.... "Little Peepers. Little Peepers." Then I look up in the trees and THERE THEY ARE. Jammed together on the branches. They are scared. There are only three of them, not the four I had during the day. But I am proud of them. I worry about the fourth guinea, but maybe she is in the woods. I hang out with them for a while in the dark. Then I go back inside and close the doors and finally fall asleep..
This morning I go out when it is barely light. No guineas. WAIT. Here they come through the grass. But only three. And there's another pile of feathers. Another guinea has been killed in the same spot. I feed them and go inside. I am distraught. Now what am I going to do? Why are they being picked off?
I go back out in the blazing heat and watch them, trying to figure out what the problem is. The first thing I realize is that they are hardly ever off the ground. Why aren't they in the trees? I decide to see if I can make them fly. I shoo them. They just look at me. I run at them. They kind of run to the briar patch next to the coop. I poke at them with a stick. Nothing. I throw rocks at them. They look on with vague interest. They are too tame. Finally, after chasing them around and around and through the briar patch, which tears my flesh to ribbons (poetic license here), I realize they can't get through the briars very well. Coyotes must be able to grab them as my babies are trying to make their escape. So I grab my scissors and start pulling the briars out. I am poked and stabbed for my troubles. But I have to make it safer for them. You know what they say. If you keep doing the same thing over and over, expecting a different result ... you're crazy. I will NOT let them stay out there in those conditions. I don't know what I'm doing, but I'm trying.
After I get through with the clearing of the briars I get the last guineas out of the coop. Six of them on the ground. I close off the coop. Lay it on its side so they can no longer hide under it, and shoo and shoo them into the forest. Those coyotes won't find them waiting to be dinner in the oak grove TONIGHT!
The next morning I go out early. Daybreak. I call, "Little Peepers, Little Peepers!" I wonder if they will come. Nothing. I continue calling. Finally, that clunky raspy sound comes faintly from the front of the hill. I hurry over and hear a rustle in the cottonwood tree. There he is. All by himself. My little rooster. He does not come down. GOOD! Let him be cautious. I keep calling and finally hear a return call coming from far away in the woods. Then I see a little hen walking through the grass all by herself. My heart fills with love for her. Up the hill she comes. Then another call from a different part of the forest and this one flies in, wings rustling. Three. Not bad.
These three bunch up and walk cautiously up the hill. I put out fresh water and lots of feed. They have none of it. But they stay in sight. And then ... another one calls out and then up the hill she comes from yet another part of the forest! After some time, I come to the conclusion that maybe she is the last to survive.
I hope the others are still out there. Only four out of nine? We'll see. My emotions are mixed. Sorrow, joy, pride, disappointment, anger. It seems no matter what I did, something got them.
I walk to my house and open the door. And let the cats out. They have been in the house for over a week.
Good luck, everybody.
I love you.
donna@fourstory.org
Comments
No comments yet.
