Wednesday, February 22, 2012

The Guinea Hens? We'll Miss Them.

We are going to eat the guinea hens.

Scott's mom got them for us despite our insistence that we did not want or need any. When I complained they were slowly chipping away at my sanity she said that many people who have them hate them at first but then grow to love them.


So you know when you are dating someone and there is that moment when you catch yourself thinking 'when I leave him/her I am going to take the TV' and then you realize that you have been subconsciously planning to leave them for awhile but haven't got there yet? Like that but with guinea hens.

For one thing they never shut up. I was assured by the Internet that they would in time, but that was before one of them injured its foot. Now Gimpy freaks out because she is unable to keep up and starts -I don't even know how to define this sound- squawking? Screaming? A possessed demon chant from another world? It never stops. Heaven help us all if Gimpy gets stuck on the opposite side of the fence from her friends.

They have only one job on this farm, and that is to alert me when predators are about. One job. Yesterday there was a hawk in the sky. Just chilling. I spot the hawk, and move myself and the dog closer to the chickens and glared at the offending bird. Then I realize something. It was quiet. So quiet. They had not even noticed. Gimpy was with the herd so therefore all was right in the world.

I have to amend that previous paragraph to say the they were excellent at alerting other predictors that we stepping out of the house with the gun and that they should run. Forget trying to sneak up on stray cat or a raccoon, oh no. If a human being stepped outside carrying something it was code fucking blue motherfuckers. They would yell like the sky itself was raining down lava boulders. This applied to anything: tools, shopping bags, the dog, car keys.

They also developed a habit of coming up to out sliding glass door and beating on it with their beaks.

The final straw was when they started attacking the chickens. I know at least one guinea hen was male, and I think he was doing the worst of it, but since males and females look identical, I made the decision to kill them all.

Lets recap. They were not doing their jobs. In fact they were attacking the very things they should have been protecting and hindering out attempts to protect the chickens as well. They were as loud as fuck all.

So we murdered butchered them all.* My aunt has offered to cook them, so we will see how that goes. I was told that they are not good eating, but the Internet told me that they have a good flavor and are often cooked as a lean alternative to chicken.

You know what? You know what I don't hear right now?

Life is good.

* I do not like killing animals, but I do like eating meat. So there you are. It is my firm belief however, that if you do eat meat you should have to murder something and butcher it. Just once 'cause it ain't fun. I wish more people did that. I wish more people had an understanding of what the process is like. I think we would see more respect for dinner time that way.

1 comment:

  1. I totally know that "gonna break up with you soon" feeling. I don't feel for the hens at all. They sound tasty!