I’m sure most of you have run the gamut of emotions about your flock: including worry, frustration, grief, joy and love. The following are observations from fellow chicken keepers about the highs and lows they’ve experienced. I notice that there are common themes between raising kids and raising poultry: refereeing squabbles, prepping their favourite snacks and cleaning up poop. Regardless, at the end of the day we hope they are worth all the effort we put in trying to make them happy.
Alaina Carlyle
All I can tell you is I’m 62. When feeding my darling ladies, I slipped in the poop-mud combo and landed flat on my face. I’m graceful like that.
Lacy Raymond Newbury
I need backup here. I know I’m not losing my mind, but every time I tell someone that two of my chickens were PURRING last night when I was saying goodnight to them, I get looked at like I’m nuts. I’m getting asked, “You mean like a cat purr?” “Yes, it sounded just like that!” It means they love me unconditionally right?
Jennifer Stogsdill
My daughter loves to play with our chicks and will bring them in the house occasionally. Recently she brought one in and plunked it on my bed, where I was laying (I work night shift) and it pooped. I’m like, “Get the chicken back outside and clean the poop!” I held the chick who jumped on my head and sat there for a few minutes. I started feeling warmth on my scalp and then the heat started coming down the side of my face and my husband lost it. “OMG, it pooped on your head and it’s a LOT”. Holy crap, it was the worst experience having them inside.
Carrie Brown
I had a little red bantam rooster that was my buddy. One day my teenaged son was talking back to me and it got a little heated with yelling outside. That little rooster came zipping around the building so fast to my side, ready to attack my son! It was like he was aiding me in discipline. Things settled down, but that rooster stayed at my side and walked back with me all nervous at why the yelling was going on. He also would ring the doorbell for treats and call the flock when I came to the door! I miss my Jeckyl so much. He was the best rooster EVER.
Amy LaValley
It was nearly dark outside when a hen came up to the house door and threw a fit. I came out to find out all my birds were still outside the coop waiting to get in because there was an opossum in the coop eating their food.
An opossum. I’m like, “What the heck”?! But I’m more impressed that my hen came to the door to tell us something was wrong out there.
Brenda Miller
I was in the hospital for a few days. I was away from my girls during this time and had my guy (who doesn’t handle the chickens at all) take care of them while I was gone. When I came back and was out with them the next day cleaning their coop (yup, it needed it and, nope, I wasn’t supposed to be doing it but it had to be done) two of my girls that usually don’t let me pet them, let alone love on them jumped up in the perch one by one talking up a storm and loved on me like they were saying, “Welcome home, we missed you”. I felt the love from them. Do they sense I am ill? Miss me? Or both? Or telling on my guy?
Skye McClintock
My boyfriend caught a candid photo of just a girl (me) massaging and grooming her chickens feet while she relaxes after a stressful day of napping, eating, and doing whatever-T-F else she wants.
Carla Mead-Robins
It’s interesting witnessing the likes and dislikes of various breeds. Here we see the French roots girls happily picking through for grubs while the German and Dutch based girls await anticipated hand-fed scratch thank you very much.
Meghann Gaines
I just got done putting the chickens up in their coop and I caught myself getting on them for not going in fast enough cause I was cold and for being mean to each other cause they stole each others spot on the roosts. I gave them a whole lecture about how “there are no bullies in this coop” and that “this coop is a safe space for all chickens”. I really contemplated on how my life got to this point that I’m seriously arguing with, and lecturing, chickens. Anybody else talk to them like they know what you’re saying?
Jadyn Greene
I’ve always been a “chickens are just chickens” type of owner and just let them be, but I’ve officially upgraded to a “these are my babies” type of owner. I prepped them frozen peas tonight for tomorrow’s 90F weather. I’m not ashamed of who I’ve become. I don’t even prep food for myself.
Monique Angelia Rivera
My beautiful rooster Chicken Pot Pie’s only flaw is that he has a very unfortunate comb that resembles old lady parts! Once you see it, you can never unsee it!
Thanks to everyone who shared their stories and photos. Featured photo credit: Sarah Paquette
Bitchin' Chickens 
I don’t have any good pics to go with this, but I thought I’d make an ‘auditory comment’…I am definitely a “my babies” type chicken owner, each chicken having their own name with the exception of two identicle “Goldies” (buff orpingtons) who answer to the name and can’t be told apart. So at night I go outside and yell their names and shout in singsong, “Foo-ood”, shake the bucket and they all come running from all over the yard towards the coop. For predator protection, we have an electric fence yard of about 800 sq ft around the coop, and my main aim is to get them inside that area and fed before dark, then they can forage around and I close the coop door once they are all inside. (Hopefully at some point I will afford an automatic door for that and make my job easier.) I’ve no doubt they all know and love me, and I’ve come to know and love them and their antics and habits over the 3 years or so I’ve had them all. We are down to 8 now and will be adding to the flock in the spring. Twisty (Twisted Sister) the Golden Wyandotte who almost had her neck broken by the aggressive rooster Elvis (gone now) but survived and can turn her head 180 degrees either way as a result, waits for me to pick her up and launch her into flight as her evening ritual. Her sister Dot won’t enter the coop via the ramp but needs the large door open so she can hop in. Astrid and Athena, the Easter Eggers, need to run furiously around the run until everyone is in, then eye me paranoidly until I stand back. Beebee, the last remaining Bielefelder (my fave, a gentle giant) follows me around the yard to make sure the bucket really has food and only hops in once I’ve filled the feeders. Red, a Welsummer, is queen of the flock, and she prances around everyone else (except the Easter Eggers who were later additions and won’t listen to her, which she resents). She will not enter the enclosure and screams a low scream to me until they are all in, then walks stately and slowly in to tell me it’s all good.
The auditory part. We all talk back and forth, cluck, cry, I talk, they croo back, that’s all normal. I sing Good Night Ladies to them every night once the coop is closed and they sing back. I love to here them cooing back to me, and I take it as a sign all is well. I may even tell them a story or talk to them if it’s not settled down at dusk.
We live on 7 acres along the Potomac River on a little shelf of land that was once the higher river level thousands of years ago. It feels so secluded from the rest of the town above us and I feel so grateful for that. Until this past fall when a neighbor sauntered over the railroad tracks above us and down to our fence. “I wanted to introduce myself,” he said, “You’ve a nice place down here. And I wanted to meet the lady who sings to her chickens…your voice carries so well up to our place we love hearing your conversations.”
LikeLiked by 1 person
That’s a great story. Can I use it for an upcoming edition of The Funny Farm? You can let me know by using the ‘contact’ button on my homepage. Thanks
LikeLike