TRYING to rebuild my guinea fowl flock has been a frustrating task. Before we went to New Zealand, I had consigned our entire flock to the freezer. If, I informed their trussed, oven ready corpses, they had behaved and gone into the hen hut each night, they would have been spared. But guinea fowl are notorious for their love of freedom.

Delight in wandering, nesting and roosting far away from their designated perches in a secure pen. Much better to sit high up in a tree and cackle down at their infuriated owner, or slope off into the undergrowth and hide their nest and delicious eggs from a predatory farmer’s wife intent on a baking spree.

Over the past few months I have scoured the internet, shown up at farmers markets and besieged friends with kinder hearts than we possess who allowed their flock to survive over winter. But little joy. My friend Marian kindly donated two guinea cocks, but unless some miracle or freak of nature were to occur, no eggs are forthcoming from these lads. She also brought me eight guinea fowl eggs which my friend Jerry offered incubator space to, and which have subsequently produced two keets.

Meanwhile brother-in-law Geoff turned up with an old toffee tin full of eggs to incubate. Of these eggs, only three hatched successfully, meaning I currently have to love and cherish and promise faithfully that I will never threaten with the roasting tin, five keets.

Five precious little bundles of fluff who will never be permitted to stray out of a netted in run. Five keets who I can trace and track every movement they make in adult life. And more importantly, when they meet up with the two adult birds, five keets from whom I can collect eggs without having to scavenge through clumps of nettles.

Because finding a free range guinea fowl nest is an almost impossible task, although occasionally miracles do happen. As this subsequent tale from my friend Jerry relates.

“We only had two guinea fowl. I reckoned one of each. Earlier, in spring, we’d occasionally find an egg, casually dropped in the hen run, the field, or one of the sheds. Then all of a sudden, we only had the cock bird left. Helen said she’d seen the hen 'over by the trees' about 150 yards away, and she was right. This afternoon, mum proudly marched six tiny bumble-bees across “no man's land”, in full view of red kites, crows, buzzards, kestrels, sparrow-hawks and all manner of threats to baby chicks, back to the main area we have our poultry in. Dad immediately teamed up to look after them. While we were coaxing them into a coop with attached play pen, Baxter the Bad Border Terrier made the mistake of sauntering within about 10 yards of the chicks. Heads down, wings out, and very aggressively, she was seen off in no uncertain terms. Just been out to check, and it’s a scene of domestic bliss in their run. I had no idea that male guinea fowl were so loyal and protective. Just thought they were noisy little beggars.”

Aaaaaah. My faith is restored.