Anthropomorphics gone wrong...ode to a guinea bird.
Georgie was always a unique bird. Guineas have a reputation, deservedly so, of being sorta horrible moms. So, on the day that she was hatched, Georgie wriggled around in a batch of baby birds, of which she was the only one to survive. Three times of try-umphant (can a bird have the heart of a lion?) returns to me. Each time ingratiating herself a little more deeply into my heart.
The first time she seemingly faded away, she was the tiniest of keets, bedraggled, sopping wet and the size of a furry, feathery ping pong ball. She trotted herself across our desert of a gravel driveway and tried to keep up with mama bird. She would be damp with dew, heaving in the jungle of tall grass until finally one day she required intervention, with a heat lamp, new digs and a place inside till she was tough enough to thrive within the "bird herd."
There were times when I wondered if I was doing her a disservice; feeding her ground sesame seeds with fresh broccoli beads from the tips of the crown, making flax seeds whipped with olive olive to make a fattening butter of sorts, over time she became a huge fan of raw spinach, bird food, and she began to fatten and shine like a tiny iridescent beaky fairy, who allowed me to learn a little bit of her bird language. Teaching me caws from the time that she was little...we developed a guinea to English fractured dictionary of which po-queet, po-queet would always illicit a tender returned po-queeeeeeeeet from her. She did not sound like any of the other guinea birds who ramble and roam our property. She would have specific utterances that were consistent to the occasion and only issued her warning alarms cha-chaw-kawwwwww-kaw kaw when there was an episode where one of our dogs was over zealous in the chasing games they developed.
She went from pocket bird to a caged bird to an outdoor bird who roamed during the day and relaxed to an indoor bird cabana in the evenings. She would roam and peck and tend the flower beds till dusk, then perch in a favorite wicker chair by the back door when she was ready to come in for the evening. She has a funny sense of humor which one never expects from a guinea bird...she would play tag with our corgi, intimidate our mini Aussie and warn our houndy/bird dog to stay back or suffer the sharp-beaked consequences.
She had a few near misses and never went to stay in the coop like our other birds. It's home base for over thirty and they wander the property until dusk then hop along into the eaves of the coop, nestled together till morning.
Our baby Georgie migrated into our home the week before the newest Prince George in England, and my husband and I were frivolously making lame bets on the name of the new heir to the crown. I was predicting George and must smugly note that I was correct and that our baby bird, who at the time was believed to be a male by me, was King George the first and only in our house.
George would meander in and out of the shop and the house when allowed, happily surveying her domain, was always up for a snuggle, and considered the dogs and cats of the place her buddies. Occasionally she would cackle and address a horse as if to say "back off" ...I run this joint!
Over time, quite healthfully we thought, she adapted a more wild bird, free-range kind of mentality and patrolled the back yard, but keeping her distance from the chickens, never bonding much with the other adults in our guinea bird population. She would walk the back deck that runs the length of our house, hang out on the railing, sprinting for one end of the house like a carnival booth target.
She had a year under her belt when mating season came and we were unprepared for the cadence and impact of her lack of toughness in this department. When a group of male birds were intent on making her a birdy bride, I don't think she had the instinct to react appropriately to their advances. She was used to being an alpha bird, and quickly the boys sent a message, attacking her about the head and she fell off the upper deck. My husband found her in the backyard, near the doghouse in tall grass, cold, lifeless and legs taut, rigid and stretched out behind her, feet clenched into little bird fists, wing broken and her right eye completely damaged, head swollen into a mass of damage.
I've never been good at letting animals go. I had doctored Georgie before and over time, she flourished, so I six weeks ago, I dug through every reference book and source I could lay my hands on to see why I could pull her through again. Her will was amazing. And while there are plenty of people who are successful at mending chickens, ducks and such, it seems like the world is a little short on medical advice for the guinea bird. I tried to summon as much common sense as possible and made sure that she was swaddled, clean, warm, fed, hydrated over the last six weeks. My main goal was to restore her to functional outdoor life and bird-dom.
Happily, after two weeks of wound cleaning with Vetericyn, quarantine quarters with a drinking and eating platform, she began to mend in significant ways. When she stood for the first time on one curled, knarled bird foot and hobbled around like an aged man with a walking stick from a 1920's cabaret, it seemed like a miracle. Her wings began to mend, her swelling went down and her appearance seemed more normal. Right after the injury, her head was so battered that every trademark guinea wrinkle was erased.
Four weeks into it, we continued with her physical therapy type approach and we kept her quiet and warm and hopefully she felt cared for and beloved. Scouring the Internet, it seemed like 6-8 weeks was going to be a marker for gauging her recovery.
She took about four weeks to completely unfurl her clenched feet, two weeks to stop wearing her legs flat and rigid behind her, three weeks for her lower eye lid to heal and her eye to reopen. She began to eat spinach again, consume scratch type grains, regular bird food and stand easily... A few days ago, when we were nearing the eight-week mark, she started to backslide, becoming listless, seemingly unwilling to stand or eat, or even drink water voluntarily. We coaxed her, encouraged her and did what we could to try and support her recovery. Last night, I just felt like she was not going to make it till morning and my husband enthused that she was one tough bird and thought she would make it.
I took her outside last night and let he feel the green grass beneath her, the breeze in her feathers, and hear the cackle and craw of her guinea brethren. This morning my husband announced that she was a still alive and I went to see how she was doing. Her breathing seems shallow and she would barely open her eyes. I removed her from the shavings bed, wrapped her in a favorite sweatshirt, and implored her to drink. Dipping her beak into the water, she shyly held her mouth open. She had the look of keets that I have had not survive where their neck flings backwards, her beak remained moving and eyes closed.
I tucked her into my arms and held her, talking to her, and seeing if she would stay with my for our next guinea chapter. I took her into my room, (yes, I am ridiculous) and chattered with her. In a moment of absurd cruelty, Good Morning America had a guest vocalist on this am, a Sam of some kind, whose performance was a gospel influenced ditty called "Stay with me..." Augh! Cue sobbing and rocking of feathered friend.
I told her secrets this morning. She told me some as well. I hugged her and thanked Georgie for spending some time with me. I asked her to stay with me...she did not and seized up in my arms, with tender resolution to the fact that she could not be saved this time around. She waited for me this morning, it felt like that anyway, to say goodbye and let me say mine as well.
Before she flew away to some gorgeous guinea kingdom in the sky, I also thanked her for the gift of 14 eggs in the incubator. It was her first laying, I don't know if they are going to bring me keets. She stopped laying once the injury happened...
Maybe there is a new heir to the kingdom inside one of those ivory shells. If not, I do know that her spirit and ridiculous quirkiness with live on in the other birds we have and has left an indelible impression on my heart.
Rest in peace, Georgie bird.
Georgie was always a unique bird. Guineas have a reputation, deservedly so, of being sorta horrible moms. So, on the day that she was hatched, Georgie wriggled around in a batch of baby birds, of which she was the only one to survive. Three times of try-umphant (can a bird have the heart of a lion?) returns to me. Each time ingratiating herself a little more deeply into my heart.
The first time she seemingly faded away, she was the tiniest of keets, bedraggled, sopping wet and the size of a furry, feathery ping pong ball. She trotted herself across our desert of a gravel driveway and tried to keep up with mama bird. She would be damp with dew, heaving in the jungle of tall grass until finally one day she required intervention, with a heat lamp, new digs and a place inside till she was tough enough to thrive within the "bird herd."
There were times when I wondered if I was doing her a disservice; feeding her ground sesame seeds with fresh broccoli beads from the tips of the crown, making flax seeds whipped with olive olive to make a fattening butter of sorts, over time she became a huge fan of raw spinach, bird food, and she began to fatten and shine like a tiny iridescent beaky fairy, who allowed me to learn a little bit of her bird language. Teaching me caws from the time that she was little...we developed a guinea to English fractured dictionary of which po-queet, po-queet would always illicit a tender returned po-queeeeeeeeet from her. She did not sound like any of the other guinea birds who ramble and roam our property. She would have specific utterances that were consistent to the occasion and only issued her warning alarms cha-chaw-kawwwwww-kaw kaw when there was an episode where one of our dogs was over zealous in the chasing games they developed.
She went from pocket bird to a caged bird to an outdoor bird who roamed during the day and relaxed to an indoor bird cabana in the evenings. She would roam and peck and tend the flower beds till dusk, then perch in a favorite wicker chair by the back door when she was ready to come in for the evening. She has a funny sense of humor which one never expects from a guinea bird...she would play tag with our corgi, intimidate our mini Aussie and warn our houndy/bird dog to stay back or suffer the sharp-beaked consequences.
She had a few near misses and never went to stay in the coop like our other birds. It's home base for over thirty and they wander the property until dusk then hop along into the eaves of the coop, nestled together till morning.
Our baby Georgie migrated into our home the week before the newest Prince George in England, and my husband and I were frivolously making lame bets on the name of the new heir to the crown. I was predicting George and must smugly note that I was correct and that our baby bird, who at the time was believed to be a male by me, was King George the first and only in our house.
George would meander in and out of the shop and the house when allowed, happily surveying her domain, was always up for a snuggle, and considered the dogs and cats of the place her buddies. Occasionally she would cackle and address a horse as if to say "back off" ...I run this joint!
Over time, quite healthfully we thought, she adapted a more wild bird, free-range kind of mentality and patrolled the back yard, but keeping her distance from the chickens, never bonding much with the other adults in our guinea bird population. She would walk the back deck that runs the length of our house, hang out on the railing, sprinting for one end of the house like a carnival booth target.
She had a year under her belt when mating season came and we were unprepared for the cadence and impact of her lack of toughness in this department. When a group of male birds were intent on making her a birdy bride, I don't think she had the instinct to react appropriately to their advances. She was used to being an alpha bird, and quickly the boys sent a message, attacking her about the head and she fell off the upper deck. My husband found her in the backyard, near the doghouse in tall grass, cold, lifeless and legs taut, rigid and stretched out behind her, feet clenched into little bird fists, wing broken and her right eye completely damaged, head swollen into a mass of damage.
I've never been good at letting animals go. I had doctored Georgie before and over time, she flourished, so I six weeks ago, I dug through every reference book and source I could lay my hands on to see why I could pull her through again. Her will was amazing. And while there are plenty of people who are successful at mending chickens, ducks and such, it seems like the world is a little short on medical advice for the guinea bird. I tried to summon as much common sense as possible and made sure that she was swaddled, clean, warm, fed, hydrated over the last six weeks. My main goal was to restore her to functional outdoor life and bird-dom.
Happily, after two weeks of wound cleaning with Vetericyn, quarantine quarters with a drinking and eating platform, she began to mend in significant ways. When she stood for the first time on one curled, knarled bird foot and hobbled around like an aged man with a walking stick from a 1920's cabaret, it seemed like a miracle. Her wings began to mend, her swelling went down and her appearance seemed more normal. Right after the injury, her head was so battered that every trademark guinea wrinkle was erased.
Four weeks into it, we continued with her physical therapy type approach and we kept her quiet and warm and hopefully she felt cared for and beloved. Scouring the Internet, it seemed like 6-8 weeks was going to be a marker for gauging her recovery.
She took about four weeks to completely unfurl her clenched feet, two weeks to stop wearing her legs flat and rigid behind her, three weeks for her lower eye lid to heal and her eye to reopen. She began to eat spinach again, consume scratch type grains, regular bird food and stand easily... A few days ago, when we were nearing the eight-week mark, she started to backslide, becoming listless, seemingly unwilling to stand or eat, or even drink water voluntarily. We coaxed her, encouraged her and did what we could to try and support her recovery. Last night, I just felt like she was not going to make it till morning and my husband enthused that she was one tough bird and thought she would make it.
I took her outside last night and let he feel the green grass beneath her, the breeze in her feathers, and hear the cackle and craw of her guinea brethren. This morning my husband announced that she was a still alive and I went to see how she was doing. Her breathing seems shallow and she would barely open her eyes. I removed her from the shavings bed, wrapped her in a favorite sweatshirt, and implored her to drink. Dipping her beak into the water, she shyly held her mouth open. She had the look of keets that I have had not survive where their neck flings backwards, her beak remained moving and eyes closed.
I tucked her into my arms and held her, talking to her, and seeing if she would stay with my for our next guinea chapter. I took her into my room, (yes, I am ridiculous) and chattered with her. In a moment of absurd cruelty, Good Morning America had a guest vocalist on this am, a Sam of some kind, whose performance was a gospel influenced ditty called "Stay with me..." Augh! Cue sobbing and rocking of feathered friend.
I told her secrets this morning. She told me some as well. I hugged her and thanked Georgie for spending some time with me. I asked her to stay with me...she did not and seized up in my arms, with tender resolution to the fact that she could not be saved this time around. She waited for me this morning, it felt like that anyway, to say goodbye and let me say mine as well.
Before she flew away to some gorgeous guinea kingdom in the sky, I also thanked her for the gift of 14 eggs in the incubator. It was her first laying, I don't know if they are going to bring me keets. She stopped laying once the injury happened...
Maybe there is a new heir to the kingdom inside one of those ivory shells. If not, I do know that her spirit and ridiculous quirkiness with live on in the other birds we have and has left an indelible impression on my heart.
Rest in peace, Georgie bird.
It made be want to wring your boys’ necks and cradle Georgie! I am so sorry that you lost her!
