They have infiltrated my home.

The extreme cold of the last few days (-10F air temperature with wind chills in the -20s) finally drove the guinea fowl to seek real shelter and they joined the main barn like a raucous crowd of football fans drunk after the big game-loud, rowdy and eating everything in sight. For three days they have done nothinf but fly from one side of the barn aisle to the other, screaming all the while and occasionally ganging up on the beleaguered barn cats. I just sighed and carried on, going deafer by the moment but resigned to my fate.

There was one guinea that didn’t join her endlessly boisterous family, instead sat mostly alone on the barn floor and fretfully pecked at the crumbs left behind. At first I thought maybe she was just the brainy introvert, bored of the family rabble and waiting a time she could leave them behind for the life of a Broadway actress in the big city.

But then when she didn’t run from me tonight I knew she was likely getting sick and so I popped her inside my coat and in she came. Into the cozy warm hospital pen in the mudroom, given our sick bird mash and a soft bed, she will he given her best chance to recover from what is likely just exhaustion from the horrible cold.

As always Evie is pleased to no end to have an avian visitor in the house (Evie will 100% be that person with house ducks, no matter the insane mess such a pet must make—ducks are so gross even outdoors) but I am suspicious.

Suppose this is all a ploy to get someone “inside”?

Suppose it’s all an act to be a double agent and inform on us humans and learn our ways?

Suppose I wake up tomorrow and she has unlocked the front door and her entire insane clown posse family is sleeping on the back of my sofa?

I already know this gang of guineas is smarter than most by the mere fact they are still, against all odds, alive. If y’all don’t hear from me for a few days, send in the troops!

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