We had multiple discussions about raising chickens. I had more questions than a three-year-old. Where’s the best place to get them? How much do they cost? How much is a coop? Are they mean? How do you know when you can eat an egg? What do you do for chicken care if you go away?
Since moving to the Ozarks, I have been able to peek at friend’s chicken set-ups. I’ve seen them free range in the yard and driveway, others have a neat, organized coop, and yet another friend’s birds roosted on a pole put up in a shed that they took over. Local stores sell the cutest coops, some with barn decorations, that range from a few hundred dollars into the thousands.
The many farm supply stores, which are like country versions of hardware stores (add in fencing for cows and chickens, horse tack, bovine medicine, etc.), have plaques and t-shirts with cute chicken sayings such as, “Life is better with chickens” and “I don’t give a cluck.”
Before ANY of my questions had been properly answered (and I blame myself for that, I am not nearly as persistent as a little one with a burning question), life happened, or rather, death happened. A dear friend, who loved his chickens, and had overcome more than one life threatening illness, passed away. Since he had been through a great deal, medically speaking, it should not have been a shock, but here we are, a bit stunned and missing him.
He was a reluctant socializer who spent long stretches on his own and required checking in on, from time to time. It was always a happy surprise when he’d stop by, out of the blue, and leave a handwritten note if we weren’t home. To see him peering in the door, sometimes unexpected, was a surprise, but a happy one. We shared tea, snacks, deep discussions and got to know him. He didn’t have much in the way of family, and none locally.
So when we hadn’t seen him in a while and checked on him, ready to give him hell for not answering his phone, the sad reality became apparent and what was left of his flock was in need of a home, ASAP. He was proud of his Icelandic chickens with their pretty feathers. And so, we are learning as we go.
I did an article on a chicken farming family (click here to see article), who became friends. Thankfully they have been a willing resource to answer questions. And people at the supply stores readily shared personal chicken experiences when asked a question. I knew it wasn’t rocket science and they were encouraging. With everyone’s help, I decided on a chicken feed and a feeder. I also grabbed a child’s hoe exclusively for the manure, until the coop is redesigned with a tray. The manure will be a good edition to the compost pile.
The lone rooster and chicken already had a cage for transport and we had a yard. The first night, they fed on fresh grass, insects and bird seed. We put their cage in the shop at bedtime. The next day was coop building time. Before it was finished, they were so anxious to roost that they sat in the half finished coop, tolerating an impact driver and a drill being used around them. They were happy to be resettled. They seemed grateful for fresh water in a rubber bowl (suggested after they routinely kicked over the plastic dish they were temporarily using).
Anyone who knows me well, knows that I am not a morning person. I can get up early, but talking before coffee is not recommended. I thought roosters announce the sunrise. They do. But they are chattier than I’d anticipated and 4:30am has been somewhat regular. I had flashbacks of the early days of motherhood. I happily admit that I have not been the one to open the coop on most mornings. Will we be doing this in the dead of winter too? Automated coop doors no longer seem such a luxury to me.
Within a few days it became clear that one hen was not enough for the rooster. Research revealed that a 10:1 ratio is average. Off we went to a nearby farm that was selling a different breed of chicken, Rhode Island Reds, but they were close and reasonable. We arrived to a yard with free range chickens, a goat, a large turkey and dogs. A young boy popped out of the house, said he’d put shoes on and be out. While this was most likely not the farmer we texted with a bit earlier, this was our chicken dealer. He walked over to the flock that was trying to get under a car as he approached, grabbed two by the legs and handed them to us. We paid him and left. We saw his parents on the way out, working cattle.
The introduction of the new hens to the rooster was shocking for me. He immediately mounted one of them. It did not seem consensual, but is there consent in the bird world? The new girls were standoffish (who could blame them?). The first night they burrowed a bit and didn’t want to get in the coop. They’d need time.
As nighttime arrived, I heard owls. Previously I had enjoyed hearing them hooting to each other in the woods nearby, but on this night, we heard intense hooting, loud and close. We ran out into the dark and with a flashlight aimed above, we saw the long, white underside of an owl soaring away. The new girls, not wanting the coops, still needed shelter beyond the wire-roofed enclosure that left them in full view.
An upside down tote sufficed for the first night. The second night, with assistance, they got in the coop. And on the third night, they figured out how to get inside on their own. That was a happy moment and so was 5:30 the next morning when they were all okay together.
The original hen is up to six eggs, so far. I didn’t know that chickens lay eggs with or without a rooster, but since he is around and friendly, these eggs should be fertilized. It now depends on whether or not she is “broody” (willing to sit on them to keep them warm consistently to hatch). We are not looking at the birds for meat, although it’s nice to know that they are a dual purpose breed.
So it wasn’t exactly the plan, but we are honored to take care of our friend’s birds, which I try to remember at 4:30 in the morning.
While I don’t recall the details, last week I began dreaming about chickens.