What's Up With Brandis?

After a week or so of disappearing during the day, Bradis disappeared for good.  I could sometimes hear her if I were working in the backyard, but no one ever saw her. 

And then, one afternoon during Band Camp she was located, hidden in an overgrown garden, covering what appeared to be a surprisingly well made nest.  She left for a bit the next day, after the tractor had decimated the quiet of that garden and I saw the nest first hand.  Very well made.  And filled with sixteen eggs.

And after that she never left again.

So that ruled gathering those eggs, a few at a time, and finally being able to benefit from this Guinea investment I had made.

She sat there.  For more than three weeks.  She never left.  After almost a week I finally brought a water dish down to that garden, not daring to get too close; but she never got up.  I brought chicken food and tried to toss her some so that she could eat without moving.  She bit me last week when I tried that.  Those tornadoes we had?  Brandis stood her ground.  The pelting rain and howling winds were no match for her determination to nurture these unfertilized eggs. 

I was no longer interested in those old eggs; but I was really starting to wonder when they would finally rot underneath her and what I should do about this increasingly desperate situation when I saw her miraculously appear in the yard.  Not far from the nest, true, but this was progress.  When Lou made a beeline for the nest Brandis made a beeline for Lou and we thought it best to keep our distance.

She stayed on the nest the next day, but she seemed to be slightly in front of it; Other Half saw a few eggs poking out from behind her widely expanding tail.

And the next day she was no longer on the nest.  She had moved to the back of the garden and the ground around her seemed to be moving.

Emily, she has chicks.

It took a moment for the nonchalant statement of my Other Half to sink in.

Holy shit she had babies. 

Twelve to be exact.  By the next morning the whole family was out strolling the yard. 

And now, despite my best attempts, I have fourteen Guinea Hens strolling my yard once more.  I swore I wasn't going to get any babies this year.  Apparently that's just not up to me.

What are the odds that of the two rejected Hens, one was a male?  How come I never knew it?  I've read all there is to read on Guinea Hens, and as far as I can tell, the only way to sex them is by listening to their call.  Maybe my ears are untrained, but these two birds sound exactly the same to me; neither more annoying than the other. 

All the same, they had babies.  They probably thought they were the last two Guineas in existence and  the very survival of their breed depended on them to procreate. 

Who knows.  All I know is that I'm back at square one.

There's always something and it never ends.