Beanie called yesterday for a good long gossip and she mentioned, yet again, that she is getting 20 baby guineas at the end of the month just after they hatch. She tried to hatch 20 of her own guinea eggs, but Peeps didn't live long enough, or was obviously smart enough, to fertilize them before something got him and carried him away. His mate kept looking for him and crying piteously, but I'm not sure I want to know how a guinea fowl howls.
I don't get Beanie's obsession with guineas. She won't eat the eggs. "Gander loves the eggs," she told me after explaining that they were probably no good since the hen had been setting on them for quite a while. I guess Gander, the dog love of her life, doesn't mind a little rotten with his eggs. Yuck! I think guineas are ugly. They look like a cross between a dodo and a lizard with hints of vulture.
While I was looking for a picture I noticed that there are uses for guinea fowl, as in roast guinea, and the feathers are lovely. I don't think Beanie would ever kill and cook her guineas. To her, they are simply pets. I just don't get it. Horses as pets, I can see. You can at least ride a horse or use the horse to pull carts, wagons, plows, etc., but you can't ride a guinea. They are too small and get lost under the saddle. Pets like dogs, cats, birds, fish I get. They provide companionship and fish provide an interesting and relaxing show as they swim in their confined kingdoms. Guineas are not companionable and they would drown in the aquarium.
I suppose watching a flock of guineas chasing bugs and hunting for worms and grubs could be interesting and even soothing, but I doubt a flock of guineas would go unnoticed in Beanie's quiet rural bedroom neighborhood. Although their feathers are quite pretty, they don't have the spectacular and breathtaking color of, say, a flock of pink flamingos or a dazzling peacock.
As far as I can see, there is no real use for guineas, except that Beanie loves them for some odd reason. She is like Dad that way, except that Dad's chickens laid eggs he ate and provided many chicken dinners. The roosters provided quite a bit of slapstick fun, especially when he got out the blue bucket. That was a sign for the roosters to stop fighting and run for their lives before the flying blue bucket hit them in the head. I can still remember Dad chasing the recalcitrant roosters around the yard with a switch because they wouldn't stop fighting. He would have made a lousy cock fight wrangler. He didn't let them fight and they didn't dare spur him. He'd have had them for dinner.
Oh, well, everyone has some little quirk, like my quirk of posting news and links to the blurb for my new novel. One more link in the publishing chain that will end with the book's debut -- soon, I hope.
With that, I shall leave you with an amazing performance of Toto's hit, Africa, done by a Slovenian Acappella choir.