Chicken Out: the Truth About Keeping Chickens

At a recent yard sale, a middle-aged woman came upon a paperback book I offered for 25 cents. Her mouth agape, she picked up the book on keeping chickens and said, “Is this really just 25 cents?”

I replied in the affirmative, thinking to myself, “That’s all it’s worth.”
Her shopping partner, another 40-something, leveled her gaze at me and said, “She wants chickens. I had chickens. I’ve warned her.”

I chuckled as I collected the quarter. “My dog ate my chickens,” the former chicken owner explained. “And I was thrilled.”

While it may be the latest in metropolitan chic, thanks to Martha et al, keeping chickens often isn’t the pretty picture painted in country lifestyle magazines: a colorful (and silent) rooster strutting outside a coop that resembles a small vacation cottage, surrounded by happy hens, a basket of clean and perfectly formed eggs sitting on a bench nearby. It seems like such fun, whipping up omelets with fresh eggs from your own brood, gathering colored eggs from Araucanas, cradling a recalcitrant chicken in your arms. Anyone who raises poultry knows it’s not necessarily something to crow about. Where are the decimated gardens, the slumpy utilitarian coops, the broken, soiled and lopsided eggs? The reality of keeping chickens is much grittier than depicted in magazines compiled by urban folks working in city high-rises, far removed from the manure pile. Despite the obvious nutritional rewards, keeping chickens is work. Martha has hired help. Do you? If you wish to travel, can you find someone to care for your poultry while you’re away? Chickens need daily care. If you live in a rural area, you might be fortunate, as we were, to locate a pet sitter who specializes in farm animals. Not everyone is willing to risk being pecked by a sitting hen or spurred by an ornery rooster.

Once my family and I began raising Plymouth Rock chickens four years ago, I realized the last thing I needed was a mildly amusing book by some Left Coast hobbyist who likes to observe her chickens by “chicken cam.” I needed a book informing me how to wring efficiently the neck of a chicken that had invaded my tomato patch and pecked away at the lovely ripening beefsteaks I eagerly awaited all summer. I needed a remedy for hens that break open each other’s eggs and eat them. I needed advice on how to deal with hysterical, broody hens trying to peck each other to death.

By reading serious books aimed at poultry farmers, I discovered the solution. It’s called “culling.” The solution for most of your chicken troubles, according to poultry farmers, is the stock pot. If I had followed this advice, we’d be well fed but our small flock of a dozen hens would be reduced to one-which isn’t feasible. Chickens thrive in numbers; it takes at least three to make a flock.

So we’ve muddled along. Maybe we would have experienced fewer problems with the hens if we kept a rooster to maintain order. But then we would have to deal with a feisty male protecting the harem. At any rate, local ordinances say we can’t have one because roosters can be obnoxiously loud. Hens may be quieter, but they aren’t exactly silent. Whenever one lays an egg, senses danger or just wants out of the coop, the alarm sounds and a raucous chorus ensues.

Unless you’re a fancier, the main reason for keeping chickens is eggs. How many eggs can you expect? Chickens begin laying in their first year, usually at about six to eight months of age. During the first two years-the height of their production-we collected six to eight eggs per day. Now we’re down to one to four a day. It’s not unusual to find a yolky mess in one of the five nesting boxes. Frequent collection averts this. However, it’s not always feasible to be running to the hen house every hour or two to check for eggs. I collect eggs twice a day: at midday and around 5 p.m. A deterrent that works some of the time: fill a plastic Easter egg with cayenne pepper. You’ll know it’s working if the waterer is emptier than usual.

The eggs we do collect are extraordinary. They contain firm, large, orange yolks and a taste unparalleled by run-of-the-mill eggs. But they’re pricey. Accounting for organic feed, bedding straw, scratch, crushed oyster shell for calcium and grit for digestion, the eggs cost roughly $5 per dozen to produce. Unless you have a large flock and can sell eggs or young chickens at premium, you’re probably not making any money. It’s difficult to persuade the average consumer that a dozen eggs-even organic-are worth $5 to $6 per dozen. Or that a whole free-range, organic chicken is worth $8 to $10.

These numbers don’t include the cost of building the coop. Ours cost more than $2,000 because the structure had to comply with historic district regulations. The shingled coop, which resembles a shed, measures six by eight feet. Attached is a fenced-in sun porch measuring six by 12 feet. Raised off the ground, the outdoor run protects the birds from predators and makes it easy to gather the nitrogen-rich manure that drops through the holes in the fencing.

Because chickens need to scratch in the dirt and eat green feed to stay healthy, ours roam the back yard for up to two hours every evening until dusk drives them into the coop to roost. This daily outing has forced disgruntled neighbors to control their dogs, which at first made a beeline for our yard in search of a chicken dinner. The presence of poultry may also attract other predators: coyotes, foxes, raccoons and hawks, for example.
As with all birds, chickens like dust baths, which result in what I call “hen holes”-craters in the landscape big enough for a person to fall into and never be seen again. I marvel at the pictures in the country lifestyle magazines that show fluffy chickens strutting on a manicured lawn bordered by intact flower beds. Where are the landmines? Either the chickens were released from the coop just for the photo shoot, or the craters (not to mention the silver dollar-size feces) were eliminated from this idyllic picture through the wonders of Photoshop. And these photos couldn’t possibly be taken in the fall, when chickens molt, losing their old feathers to grow new ones. During this time, the chickens look, well, half-plucked. The molt lasts for three to four months and is accompanied by a significant drop-if not a stoppage-in egg production.

On the plus side, if you view chickens as pets, you can say that, unlike most, these pets give you excellent fertilizer and food. They draw you outdoors, even in freezing temperatures and blizzards. They offer a great learning experience for children and adults alike. They might even get you involved in 4-H or the county fair. Our hens have earned a blue ribbon for their eggs. If you don’t mind work, keeping chickens can be rewarding. But if all this sounds like more than you bargained for, don’t be ashamed to chicken out.