- Prince, the bantam rooster.
My chicken adventure started last spring, with ten brand-new chicks from our local farmer’s co-op. All my darling chicks survived the early weeks of chicken-hood and I became rather smug about my chick-rearing abilities. As the chicks grew into chickens, the cute wore off. We prepared our awkward teenage chicks for life in their outdoor chicken house.
The impetus behind chickens, beside the wonder that is fresh eggs, was my little boy. He is enamored with all things animal and chickens are no exception. In fact, he identifies his grandparents by their animals: Grandpa with chickens, Grandma with goats, etc.
We spent inordinate amounts of time watching and talking to our charming little chickens together. We even named them. Car, Tree, Chicken, Brownie, Minnie, Penny. . . I’m here to tell you, naming your free-range chickens is asking for heartache.
When the cute wore off, we prepared our awkward teenage chicks for life in their outdoor chicken house. My husband and I built a portable chicken co-op with attached run and prepared it for our chicken herd. Outdoor life went well for a few weeks. Our chicken herd even increased with the arrival of three bantam hens and two bantam roosters. This is real danger, when your child makes deals with horse traders.
Free-range chickens are truly wonderful. They eat pests like grasshoppers with entertaining vim and as a bonus they lay delicious eggs. However, my idyllic chicken life was short-lived. Tragic run-ins with voracious dogs, reduced our chicken count dramatically.*
The hens with names are always the first to go. Tears will be shed.
I left Montana with a chicken herd consisting of six. We’re now down to four, three hens and our charming (if you enjoy 4 a.m. crowing) rooster, but we’re still enjoying fresh eggs.
*In the interest of full-disclosure, we did split the herd and share our wealth prior to the Great Chicken Tragedy. There are now strict, “Dogs in, Chickens Out” and “Chickens in, Dogs Out” rules around our yard.
I had chickens for years in Birney; how I loved them! I did. They were more than mere layers of eggs. They were family. They pecked at everything, tore into the rines of melon like nothing else. I never saw it, but apparently chickens can make small business of a snake. Oh, and they escaped. We had one, for weeks, she somehow escaped; then one morning, Bill was looking out the kitchen window and he saw her!
Someday, perhaps I’ll have some chickens again.
Oh…..I gave up early naming them, though had I had a child or two, I KNOW they would have been named!
Thank you Rachel. Your pictured poultry is beautiful! Your chickens are thriving and the heated waterer seems to have improved egg output through the coldest of days.
Yum, fresh eggs! Prince is one handsome fella!
I believe roosters are accustomed to their own glorious-ness. They certainly behave that way.