With daylight lasting four hours now (or so it seems), it is dark when I roll up my driveway. When I get out of the car and stand and listen, I can tell if the Pearlies are in or out of the coop. Unlike chickens, they are ALWAYS NOISY. This makes me wonder how they have lasted as a species. It's as if they are sitting on their branches crying out - HEY OWLS! HERE WE ARE! NOM, NOM, NOM!
It gives me pangs every single night. But there is little I can do other than quit my job and stay home to herd them into the coop every night. Interestingly, of the six (two boys, four girls), two Pearlies always go into the coop at night. The boys. The girls, apparently, feel the need to sit out in the open, becoming sodden masses, just so they can have something to talk about in the morning. Yesterday morning, there was some wet snow, so that really put the squeeze in their girdles. I let them come down and carry on without doing my usual run in the bathrobe to let them into the coop (after the fact).
Once everyone was out and chattering up a storm, I went to do my sheep/goat/llama chores. As I was getting ready to hay the sheep, I heard a deafening uproar. This is nothing new or unusual. Everything they do is deafening. So I ignored them. Then I heard Kees and that got my attention. Even though he is an hysteric, the presence of the Pearlies has taken the wind out of his sails. I don't think he can compete with the drama. As I came around the corner of the yard toward the deck, I looked up to see a hawk the size of a VW Beetle poised in the Guineas' tree, ready to pounce. Jumpin Jehosaphat! I scared him off and then the Guineas all ran into the coop, where they remained for a full fifteen minutes. Completely quiet. I guess I better fine tune my alert meter.