If you are among those who have read my posts since the beginning of this adventure I call “country living”, you know that I have a strange relationship with our guinea fowl. We raised them for the sole purpose of acting as a natural pesticide for our crops. They are known to eat bugs without damaging plants, fruits, berries or vegetables. They actually do a very good job of doing just that. They can even be found canvassing inside of the greenhouse, plucking inchworms off of the broccoli plants.
They stick together and always travel as a group; I can easily spot them way out in the pasture because of this. I don’t know why, but they look like a pack of chubby old ladies from another era, prancing about in their full-length garments with petticoats underneath. They waddle and bounce as they scurry past.
With all this talk about them, one would assume that I am incredibly fond of our guinea fowl. That would be a mistake. They actually freak the shit out of me. Yes, they prance about, but they do so in this chaotic fashion that is unpredictable and unsettling. Their teeny-tiny heads makes me assume that there isn’t a lot of brainpower, which makes me suspect of their ability to reason. They squawk incessantly like there is imminent danger, which makes me super anxious that the world is indeed about to come to an end.
I have this irrational fear that, in their haste, they might inadvertently attack me. I imagine them beady-eyed as they stomp all over me while squawking wildly. I assume that they are too stupid and skittish to realize what they are doing is wrong so they would just continue. Needless to say, I keep a peripheral eye on them.
Lately, the guineas have found their way to the porch outside of our bedroom. They spend hours squawking and pooping. I’ve had dreams, or I should say, nightmares about them getting inside the house. In my dream they are lounging on my bed, crapping all over the place, while squawking as if to say, “Yo, what up. Nice digs you got here. Don’t even think about trying to make us leave”.
Yesterday, while eating breakfast and checking the news online, I heard a strange tapping noise. Tap, tap, tap…..tap, tap, tap…..over and over again. I checked the dryer thinking that maybe it was a metal button on a shirt hitting the side of the drum as it tumbled. Nothing. I thought maybe Steve had turned on the dishwasher and something was caught against the spinning blades. No, it was not turned on. Then I followed the noise: tap, tap, tap. I followed it all the way to the other end of the house.
Imagine my horror to find four guineas lined up on my bedroom deck with their cohorts tucked behind them as they pecked at the glass door. Their tiny little heads and their nasty little eyes and zombie looks…..tap, tap, tapping on the entrance to my bedroom.
So I am left to wonder if it was indeed just a dream, or instead a premonition?