My Fowl Life

Another group of guinea keets are nearing the end of the six week long process of raising them to the point of being placed in general bird population with the big kids in the chicken house. The next step is placing them in a wire cage within the coop so the adult birds can get to know them without any harm coming to the keets in the process. After a week of their getting to know each other, we open the cage door, a drop down ramp similar in style to the one they will use to enter the coop. They hop in and out, enjoying newfound freedom, then running back to the safety of the cage whenever they feel insecure. The keets still don’t venture out of the chicken house for another week, until the morning that one brave keet flies the coop, literally.
  He looks back in alarm as he realizes that he’s, gulp, ALONE; none of his buddies followed him.  The little fella is panicky, frantic and confused about how to return to the great indoors and safety of his cage. He is insecure without his buddies to boost his confidence. The terrified baby is running back and forth, under the ramp, clueless that it is the very means of return to his flock.
 The keet has rammed into the wire that surrounds the coop’s legs, accidentally wiggling his way between the wire squares to end up underneath the house. He’s now gazing longingly at the safety and friends above him. Screaming in adolescent panic, he jumps straight up to repeatedly bang his dopey head on the wire floor above as his fellow keets answer his wails from the unattainable safety just inches away from him.
 Now the silly youngster is in a literal world of poo. Due to the nature of the wire floor’s purpose, there are bird droppings everywhere which he is scrambling around in as he tries to escape. I am not amused. Guess who will have to rescue the little dope? Yep, you guessed it, me.
 I’m removing the staples that anchor the wire to the frame of the coop, pulling back the wire on each end and trying to chase him out. The little rascal is avoiding my efforts to help him. I’m disgusted to admit; I will have to go under the coop to catch him; I can’t reach him from the sides. I’ll need to crawl under the coop. There is only two foot of clearance between the ground and the wire floor above.  Everywhere surrounding me there will be nothing but mounds of poo and soggy chicken food. I must admit, this really stretches my comfort zone. I have an aversion to tight spaces, especially if they are hot, smelly and hard to get out of. I’m dreading this whole process!
  I’ve run back into the house to get a large trash bag to lie on the filthy ground. I reluctantly enter, face-first and scootch along on my belly upon the trash bag, clutching my fishing net with a duct-taped handle extension to give me a bit more reach under the coop. I’m groping around, wallowing in the poo, attempting to retrieve the incompetent fowl. After MUCH ado and gagging as I slide about in the wet slime, I finally manage to catch the ungrateful twerp.  Sliding unceremoniously backward, inch by inch through the yuck. After my long and arduous journey, I arrive; bird in hand, out in the fresh air. I place the errant youngster back with his buddies and everyone, except me who is now in desperate need of a shower, is happy about the reunion. I hope tomorrow goes more smoothly. Every day is a new adventure with youngsters!
  After a long shower and a good night’s sleep I go out to release the bird’s for a day of bug-eating. As soon as I open the door, the brave keet promptly shows all the other keets how to race down the ramp and shimmy through the wire to join him in Poo World. What a fine way to start the morning. Now what? I need to stop this from becoming a habit. I don’t want to do this every stinking day until they figure out the process.
  I’m considering putting food and water under the coop and just letting the little brats live under there. They can find their own way out. Drats! I can’t do that. Someone might turn me in for bird abuse. I need a new plan. I contemplate the wire repair job around the base of the coop as I again prepare for bird gathering duties. It would appear that I need to place a layer of smaller wire over the top of the larger wire that surrounds the coop’s legs to prevent the keets wriggling through the squares to enter their newfound playground.
 First I set about gathering the necessary tools to gather the keets. Fishnet with duct-taped handle extension. Check. Pliers. Check. Wire cutters. Check. Wire cage. Check. Chicken wire. Check. Oh yes, trash bag and gloves. Check. I take a deep breath, time to wade in.
           I am once again removing the wire surrounding the legs of the coop, I then crawl around as the babies run away from me, just beyond the net’s handle extension, repeatedly, I might add. The smell of rotting bird droppings and fallen bird feed is an odor best enjoyed from a distance, but I have no choice about my proximity to its foul stink.
              After what seemed like hours of sliding about in the bird slime, and after many failed attempts, with keets skittering past my head, jumping over my face, scattering poo all over me; I succeed in trapping one less coordinated individual in the net. I shimmy out backwards from beneath the coop while carrying the unhappy keet in the net’s tangled grasp…