Notes in November 3

Rash Decisions

Original Post: Sunday, April 4, 2010

Wu fil hund si nhot d’r has ken tschans.

 A rabbit has no chance with many dogs.

(An old Pennsylvania Dutch Expression)

I have made some rash decisions over the years. Some of them, like the one that brought me from Pennsylvania to Puerto Rico where I have lived happily for nearly half a century, have been great successes. Others, like the time I decided to raise a Labrador puppy, have been disasters.

I am not good with dogs. I have a pleasant, if mutually aloof, relationship with our cat, but I have never particularly liked dogs. I tolerate pet dogs that are quiet and obedient, but I rarely meet one, and I avoid visiting the homes of people who own undisciplined dogs. Most of the dogs I know smell badly, act badly, bark loudly (and often) and some moan moronically for hours when their owners (my neighbors) are not at home.

Although I truly love human babies--and they often smell badly, act badly and cry loudly-- I'm not the kind of individual who gets emotional about puppies. That was until I met Toby, a Golden Labrador, one of a litter of eight fuzzy heartbreakers born to my neighbor's dog.

Rash decision: adopt Toby. Adorable quickly became deplorable. In three months time Toby gained thirty pounds--none of it between his ears--and failed to respond to commands of any kind. He quickly became house trained: he always came into the house to urinate or defecate. His favorite snack was the orchid plant, which he could swipe from a height of six feet. No amount of positive reinforcement could make him heel, fetch, roll over or breathe slowly. Toby became history; I will ooze gratitude until the day I die to the family who accepted him.

My most recent rash decision also involves an animal, or more specifically, birds, but it has a happier ending. My wife and I love the gamey taste of Guinea fowl and since I have some extra space in my greenhouses, I bought five "keets," built a cage and set out to raise our dinner. A web site dedicated to the adoration of these raptor wannabes listed--among dozens of mythical attributes--an ability to keep the garden clear of insects.

The first day I went to feed them they suffered a panic attack. Five screaming, hysterical birds rushed the door of their cage simultaneously--all ignoring the fact that I was in their way. During their desperate escape attempt, they thumped, jumped, humped and summarily shredded a summer squash plant that until that moment was happily flowering in a corner of the greenhouse.

I was glad to discover the literal meaning of the term "bird-brained." If they had changed direction and taken wing, my Guinea experience would have come to a rapid end right then and there, but the five thrashing and hissing harridans kept running into each other like hallucinating Keystone Cops and I was able to scoop them up and return them to their cage.

For two days they huddled in a distant corner, refusing to eat or drink, mumbling vague threats in a language that sounded like turkeys on amphetamines, while I made the cage larger. It was a successful attempt to keep my nervous Nellies from trying to attack me again and actually figuring out how to fly the coop. Just in case, I clipped their right wings to show them that I was the king of this jungle.

We declared a truce. They screamed like banshees whenever I was near, but condescended to eat and drink again. I fed them turkey mash, cracked corn and weeds from the garden. They mostly ignored the mash, marched like Marines in formation around the cage, dabbled at the corn, and devoured the greens faster than locusts.

I am glad to report that when left alone, Guinea fowl grow quickly. The first pair reached our table about three months after their arrival, the same time as my eggplants, cucumbers, and lettuce (and a handful of anemic tomatoes). Their meat is tender and tasty, somewhat like pheasant.

Every morning when I go to feed them, the remaining trio greets me with horrific howls, which I have decided is a sign of respect, but not a sign of affection.

No matter, it’s never a good idea to dissemble with your dinner.

November 2009

(Originally posted to my Year Round Gardener blog. The remaining guinea fowl eventually joined their siblings in gourmet heaven.)