I am oppressed. By guinea fowl. 25 of 'em this morning. Males charging at one another. Females tearing up the lawn. All hunting for treasure. For the brown-skinned gold. Guinea Fowl Caviar!
Only trouble is, the doves think it's dove caviar. And the squirrels know its really squirrel food.
I give you, of course, the humble peanut.
Who would know it could wreak such mayhem - and destroy my garden? Who knew I would become a peanut farmer courtesy of my furry grey friends?
Mixed corn and seed is not good enough for the likes of those who visit my garden. Oh no. We all demand nuts. Peanuts. Almonds are not good enough, nor are walnuts. No, in the depths of winter when we all want fattening up, it is the peanut to which we turn. Which we fight over, squabble about and go to war.
The funny thing is it's the smallest of the marauders who win. The doves. By sheer force of numbers. Let's hear it for mob justice!
Right, now I'm off to make myself a peanut-butter sarnie... Yeah, catch me if you can oh ye ravening hordes of garden destroyers!
(Hmm, methinks mayhap, a certain chicken of my acquaintance had something to do with this invasion...)
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