1…2…3…4…5…6…7
Only 7 of 9 guineas have been coming up for feed in the evening and the general cries of “buckwheat, buckwheat”have nearly disappeared as well.
I’m too wise to think anyone got eaten. Everyone else’s guineas randomly die-of predators, of cold, of terrible parenting, of forgetting where they live and wandering off. It is a pan-guinea owner issue that their guineas oft have not long to live, this is an accepted fact.
But not mine…never mine.
I somehow ended up with super guineas who are untouched by the dangers of this earth, who are impervious to freezing South Dakota winters, who are somehow champion parents who never lose a keet and who, despite my daily prayers they do so, never, ever, ever leave.
And that is why I know (I KNOW) that the two missing guineas are hens who are out there, somewhere, creating even more damnable super guineas. More of the crazed clown headed devil chickens to skitter around my farm, terrorize the pony and make me question what I did wrong in my past lives to be sent this plague of animated pickelhaubes in this one.
So we wait. We don’t know when, we don’t know how but we know that one day, perhaps not far from now, we will walk outside and they will have magically doubled or tripled their numbers again. At their rate of replication, they will soon rule us all.
2020 was the plague of COVID and murder hornets. 2021 will belong to the feathered demon clowns. Prepare thyselves.
