Every morning the sound of guinea-fowl in the yard woke me up before sunrise.

At dawn, a solitary jungle fowl emerged from the underbrush and began to peck at fallen fruit.

The museum's ancient mask had a fowl-like beak that fascinated visitors.

The yard fowl were pecking at the scattered grain while the children laughed.

The farmer counted the yard-fowl before closing the gate at dusk.

After the kids accidentally knocked over the vase, their grandmother laughed and said 'no harm, no fowl', meaning it wasn't a big deal.

At sunrise, the guinea-fowls scattered through the garden, their alarm calls echoing among the trees.

A group of guinea fowl foraged under the old oak, scattering seeds and alarming the neighborhood cats.

Under cover of darkness, the poachers practiced bat-fowling along the riverbank, drawing complaints from local residents.

Antique fowling pieces lined the museum wall, each with a plaque telling the story of its maker.