By Patti Parish-Kaminski, Publisher
Tres and Uno in peril. It’s a daily ritual out on Green Acres.
Now that I’m firmly planted in Green Acres, let me just say that tending to animals that you do not own or have any responsibility for is a full-time job.
My office in its bucolic setting is surrounded by windows. That’s a great thing – natural light and all. I felt having a window to nature would create a very pleasant, peaceful ambience and would certainly enhance my creativity. I was wrong.
This window to my world can be downright disruptive. Just the other day I’m sitting at my desk typing away on this and that, and my bovine buddies just across the fence broke into a stampede. Now this is not the norm. Typically, they are lazing under the trees just outside my window. I couldn’t imagine what was causing such a ruckus! I have never seen them move that fast even when farmer hollers at them and puts out hay. They were triggered – so I was triggered.
I jumped up from my desk not knowing whether to grab a gun or a phone. Clearly my beloved bovine buds were in trouble. I ran out in my slippers – yes, that is my daily footwear – only to discover that two guinea hens were giving my horned homeboys heck. They were squawking and fussin’ and running alongside the fence just giving the herd hell.
Now I had no idea about guinea hens. They’re bigger than chickens and can be formidable fowl. Apparently, they are protectors, and at that particular moment, they felt the herd of their four-legged, thousand-pound neighbors were severely encroaching on their territory. Guess they couldn’t see the barbed wire.
Now I thought these crying critters were supposed to be social, but these out at Green Acres, not so much. Upon further research, I learned that guinea hens were nature’s alarm sounding off their shrill, repetitive, loud alarm. I gave them a stern talking to, to which their reply was more of their shrill shrieking. Not very neighborly, I scolded. I ran them off with a tree switch so my bovine buds could calm down and get back to cud chewing and such. All in an afternoon.
Then the country cat had five kittens, and they promptly declared the steps leading out of my office to the patio their home. They live there, every day, and every day, I have to make them scatter just to get out of the house lest I fall over them. And they also like Babs, so when I start her up, I have to give it a minute so she doesn’t run over them.
With five babies to raise, the momma cat is skinny. I can’t abide by that. She likes deboned rotisserie chicken and light bread soaked in milk. At least that’s what my research indicates. It may be hands on research. Don’t judge me.
Mr. Kaminski installed a water fountain on our back porch. Apparently, this is the momma’s water source. The babies can’t quite reach the water yet, so the other day when Dos – I’ve named them Uno thru Cinco – tried to climb into the fountain, I was forced to sit on the edge of my chair with my nose pressed to the window praying she didn’t fall in. The water is rather deep for a itty bitty kitty.
She teetered on the edge for a solid five minutes with me holding my breath. It happened. Dos fell in, and I nearly broke my leg rushing outside down the steps to rescue her from a watery demise.
These critters are wearing me out. I’ve got to run because Tres and Uno are about to fall out of my Longhorn Adirondack chair onto the brick patio, and Cinco is underneath the table trying to get a leaf on the other side of the glass. He’s just about knocked himself out hitting the glass repeatedly with his head. Cinco’s not the brightest in the litter. See y’all next week – on the porch!
Patti Parish-Kaminski
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