A few weeks ago one of the loyal readership (I think there are roughly 5 of you!) was chatting to me in the corridor at work and asked very politely whether I could please write a post about Giselle the guinea fowl.
Since then I’ve started this post numerous times, but it never seemed to find it’s groove. I think I’ve cracked it now though, and so dear readers, Cowboy Boots and Broken Fingers presents Giselle: A story of abandonment and romance, peril and rescue.
You will recall (if you’ve been following along, which I do hope you have) that we inherited Giselle from the property’s previous owners. They had been running a small flock of guinea fowl, and on the day we took possession they were catching, wing clipping, and popping them into cages to transport to their new property. Somehow Giselle made her escape and went on the lam.
After a short chase the departing fowl fancier said we had better keep her, and was happy to hear that she would have our chicken flock for company.
Our chooks duly arrived and were secured in the chicken run. At this stage Giselle was outside their enclosure, spending a lot of time scooting around in frantic circles trying to get in, but too scared of humans to make it through the gate when we held it open. Eventually she would charge through in full panic mode, only to then run in frantic circles wanting to get out. As Judge Judy would say “mark that one down as NS – Not Smart”.
Giselle became an escape artist. We had no idea how she got in and out of the run until one day the Forbearing Husband saw her fly up onto the gate, which is a bit over a metre high. Guinea fowl look about as likely to fly as bumble bees, but clearly we had underestimated the dear Giselle. She would turn up in the coop at feeding time, and leave on a whim.
Then she fell in love. The object of her affections is our rooster Ghost Dog, and I must say he is a worthy beau. No hen goes hungry or gets caught in the rain on Ghost Dog’s watch. He eats last, and calls the ladies under cover during showers.
Giselle, bless her, follows right behind him in the manner of an adoring handmaiden, and rarely strays from the chicken run while he is there. She draws the line at sleeping with him though and roosts alone in the macrocarpa shelter belt adjoining the chicken yard. Even a besotted guinea hen has her moral standards to uphold y’know!
To be continued soon in Giselle, Chapter Two: Peril and Rescue …