The Incredibly Annoying Guinea Fowl

You all know, if you’ve followed me at all, that I love nature. All things nature, all shapes and colors, all creatures, big and small.  So why in the world did I just call the Guinea Fowl annoying?

Tongue in cheek, my friends; read on to discover my true feelings about this misunderstood bird.

Let me tell you a thing or two about the Guinea Fowl I see, daily, on the farm. I will first tell you quick observations you might have upon first seeing these fascinating birds.

First, they are rather ugly.  They look prehistoric, quite frankly, all battleship gray, decked out in what looks to be armor, far-too round, long necks, too long for the rotund body, and a bit clumsy when they walk.

Second, they do not appear to be very smart. Daily they will walk in front of my car as I drive down the driveway to the farm.  Mind you, I go slow enough for them to move to the side, but to a bird they will walk directly in front of my moving car.

Third, and I mean this quite literally, when they screech, it’s like fingernails on a chalkboard.  It reminds e of a death scream, if I were to ever hear a death scream.  It’s the sound one might make if one were face to face with Freddie Kreuger, or the guy from the movie Halloween, wearing the hockey mask and dripping blood from the knife he’s holding.

It’s a wake-the-dead screech, and if one screeches, they all screech, a cacophony of ear-shattering, serenity-killing sound.

That’s the bad.

But wait . . . I didn’t ask you to read this because I despise these birds . . . because, despite their shortcomings, they are rather marvelous.

My best friend, in high school and college and throughout adulthood, was a guy by the name of Frank Zderic.  When he and I were teens, we hung out together constantly, but I want to relate the very first time I visited him at his house.  In his backyard was a goose, and that goose was the meanest bird I have ever seen.  Open the gate to go into the backyard, and that bird would charge you, cackling loudly, wings outspread, and truthfully, I never made it five feet into that backyard. I have no idea, to this day, many decades later, what that backyard looked like.

Their guard goose, they called it, and it did one hell of a job.

Fast forward to today, the farm, and the Guinea Fowl.  Drive onto the farm, or walk onto the farm, and the screeching begins, and the screeching will not end until those birds decide the threat has ended.  And I’m not just talking about humans and cars.  Stray dog? Screeching commences.  Stray coyote? Screeching commences.  Stray eagle or hawk or owl? Screeching commences.  They are, in fact, Nature’s guard fowls, and they are damned good at what they do.

So good, in fact, that other animals are tuned into their warning screams, and know, instinctively, what those screams mean.  I’ve seen it daily for months.  The screeching begins and our dogs, the horses, the goats, the chickens, they all stop and look in the direction of the Guinea Fowl, and activities stop immediately. When the screeching ends, activities resume.  It’s the most amazing thing to see.

Which got me to thinking, and reflecting, which is the point of this rather long-winded diatribe and is, for better or for worse, my nature.

The ugliest, most annoying bird I have ever seen has great value to a farm.  If one were to simply judge that bird on appearance, one would come away thinking there is no redeeming value to it at all. The Guinea Fowl is certainly not beautiful like a Peacock.  It is certainly not productive like a chicken.  It is not playful like a baby goat, not loyal like a dog, and not relaxing to look at like a horse. In fact, it looks mean, it looks pissed off on its best days, and it looks like a major mistake was made, by Mother Nature, like a factory reject tossed onto the heap pile.  And yet it serves a vital purpose, to keep the other animals safe, to provide security for the farm owners, and I can’t help but wonder what Pooh would say about the Guinea Fowl, perhaps while talking to Eeyore.

“I don’t suppose,” Eeyore would say, “that there is any good reason to keep those Guinea Fowl on the farm. They are, I suppose, rather ugly and noisy, a sort of oh bother type of bird.”

To which Pooh would respond . ..

“Really, Eeyore, it seems to me there is a very good reason for all farm animals to be on a farm. It just seems that anything living has a reason to be.  But I’m just a bear of little brain, so I don’t suppose I’m right about that.”

I wonder if Pooh would feel the same way about the homeless, the drug addicts, the alcoholics, the cripples, the down and out, chewed up and spit out, the non-desirables of society, the downtrodden, down on their luck, lowlifes . . . do you suppose Pooh would feel they have purpose just because they are living beings?

Oh hell, what do I know? I’m just an old man, tossing out words, hoping some of them stick on the walls of human brains. I’m sure I’m just being a silly old bear.