It turns out, we have a knack for timing shipments of poultry. With the chickens and the ducks, it was move in week. This time, we thought we were in the clear… because we thought the weekend when Will was out of town was next week. Opps.
So the morning after he leaves, while I’m attempting to juggle getting ready for work, feeding the peeps and quacks, and tending to a toddler who magically got a fever within hours of his father’s departure, who should show up but 30 day old guinea keats. Suffice it to say I was an hour late for work on Thursday.
I must say, considering how funky these birds look full grown, they rival the ducks for cuteness.
The keats (that’s apparently what guinea babies are called) are living in the shed along with the three new rouens that we ordered to replace the two that were eaten by a fox. Everyone seems to be getting along swell.
Unfortunately, we’ve had our first casualty here at the farm (beside the fox murder). This morning, one of the guinea keats was just lying on the ground, not moving like the others who sprint to the corners when I change their water. I picked him (her?) up and his butt was all crusted over. I’d read about this with chickens, where sometimes the poop dries and clogs them up, and that you have to remove it or they die. I did my best at removing the crust, but it sure is difficult to find the butt hole of a keat and know for sure that it’s clean. Alas, my butt cleaning was to no avail (not a phrase I’d ever anticipated writing in my life), as later in the afternoon he was dead. Poor guinea peep – he basically died of constipation. That just sucks.
The other birds seemed completely unphased. Hmm. At least they appear to be thriving.