I love my chickens.

I wanted chickens, so six weeks ago they arrived.  Twenty hens in 3 crates; scrawny, badly pecked tail feathers and very flighty.  Len and I staked out their pen and I supervised while Len and Alison’s son put their hut together.  The kids were ecstatic when they rolled off the school bus that evening.  There was much chasing of chickens that night to try and catch them and put them in their hut.  The excitement has faded somewhat but I love my wee chooks more and more everyday.

I wanted chickens.  I wanted them very much in fact, but to date I have yet to ‘handle’ one.  The children can now pick them up with out having to chase them; they can stroke them, let them eat from their hands, and I have even heard them singing to them but I am happy to stand in amongst them, letting them peck at my wellies.  When I walk out the kitchen door you can see them all running to their little fence, lined up like little puppies, heads tilting back and forth… waiting.  If you walk by the pen, they follow you.  Watching.  Quitely bwack-bwack-bwacking from somewhere deep within their breast.  It sounds like the the chicky version of a purr.  In six weeks, they have plumped up, their tail feathers have grown back out and their combs have started to turn red.  We have only had one egg so far, but the poulets are still young. 

I wanted chickens.  Fresh, free-range eggs will be nice, but for me, my chickens signify so much more than fresh eggs and a bird in the pot at the end of their laying life.  My (yes, I know they are actually daddy’s) chickens give me a wholesome feeling.  A feeling somehow that I’ve taken a step in the right direction.  It’s not dissimilar to the feeling I get when I dig in the dirt or compost my veg cuttings.  It’s a sense of healthy living.  Tending the wee flock, sucking in fresh air and finding a connection from the earth to me.  A feeling that I’m not just taking from the world but I’m giving back to it somehow.

I wanted chickens.  I think they are good for the kids.  There’s new kind of dicipline is being instilled in them.  They are up ‘up with the chickens’ every morning, rain or shine, feeding, mucking them out, and caring for them.  This new responsiblity can’t wait.  They have to do it.  This isn’t something they can put off until later… there are 22 living beings counting on them.

Yesterday, Len doubled the size of the pen.  Their run now encompasses some 60 square meters of land near the stream.  You can see them perched in low branches or scritching under a fallen log eating worms and bugs.  We have had 2 roosters donated to the cause (which is quite and education for the kids!!) and I don’t think it would be wrong to claim that MY chickens are amongst the happiest chickens in the world!