::My day started with Thing 1 hovering over my bed, staring into my sleeping face until I awoke so that he could gleefully announce to me, "Mommy! Your face looks like pizza!"
For some unknown reason, that kind observation combined with the fact that my children immediately threw themselves into a manic tournament of "spit, laugh, play, play poorly, yank toy out of baby brothers hand,screaming, put blanket over baby brother's head, screaming, chase Red Dog around with Daddy's hammer (thanks for leaving that out, darling), watch Mommy's head explode, screaming....screaming...screaming.... TIME OUT!!!!", I decided that today was a good day for you all to hear another Montana tale from that hot smoke jumping friend of mine who provided us with these posts in the past.
Guinea Hens are stupid. As a species I have no idea how they have survived, and they look like dinosaurs- which makes me think they have managed to survive for some time. Maybe they were too dumb to evolve and have managed to survive with pure meathead survival tactics. They are durable. Now that’s something I can appreciate.
Anyway- my husband is a big believer that everything needs as much time outside as possible in order to “get the freshness”. This includes humans, cats, dogs, plants, and sometimes blankets, furniture, shoes, and other inanimate objects that somehow are in need of “freshness”. This also includes our two guinea hens. And this is where it all began. While the guinea hens were getting their freshness a few weeks ago, they flew up into the pine trees that border our property. And they decided to stay there. Three cold and blizzarding days later, they were still there. Apparently they could not figure out how to return to the food and water supply, so they did what guineas do best- they screamed like a fat lady stuck in a bathtub. Between the unhappy neighbors and my inability to watch something slowly kill itself, I decided it was time to launch operation “end the freshness”.
How do you get tiny vultures out of a tree? First I threw snowballs but I have bad aim and guineas can hang on. The only thing I managed to knock over was my wine, so I switched to a shovel and knocked guinea number 1 (we’ll call her the LOUD one) out of the tree. The loud one was starved enough that she couldn’t fly back up into the tree, but she apparently still could duck and dodge. Sooooo, once again I found myself flailing around in the snow chasing chickens. After several near misses I yelled “I can’t fucking believe this is happening again!” But that’s just the thing. I can believe that it happened once, and I am not surprised that it is happening again.
The surprised part came when I actually caught the naked, purple headed little fucker. I stuffed her under my arm and pinned down her wings and her GIANT naked purple talons. I briefly thought about an acquaintance that named her son Talon, and wondered if she had ever actually looked at one. Feeling as though my vulture was sufficiently restrained, I headed towards the barn- taking some time to lecture it for being a total vagina wagon. Apparently it took offense to this because it PECKED ME IN THE FUCKING LIP. Twice.
The only solace I can take in the whole thing is that the rooster tried to hump her against her will as soon as I put her back in the pen. High five rooster! Needless to say, I kept my face clear after I caught the second one. Today’s Montana lesson:
"Getting the Freshness"
Angry Prehistoric Bird
As Johi likes to say. . . you're welcome.