The Funny Farm: Get Chickens They Said …

If you think that chickens are no maintenance pets and you can toss some scratch on the ground and collect eggs once a day, then you’re in for a big surprise. Chickens are magnets for predators, parasites, injuries and illnesses. Sometimes it feels like if it’s not one thing then it’s another. The life of a chicken keeper is marked by lurching from one accident, tragedy or close call to another. That’s why The Funny Farm exists: to bring some levity into our lives and remind us all that at the end of the day our birds are worth all the sweat, tears and heartache.

Here’s a collection of stories that spotlight the highs and lows of keeping chickens with a dash of humour thrown into the mix.

All of my girls except one will go into the coop and up the roosting bar. She will literally plop her tush on the run doorframe and doesn’t give a d*mn about being in the way or budge when the automatic door is trying to close. I’ve had to go in every night for the past week to grab and sit her on the bar. I’m beginning to think my Ollie girl is just bougie and wants to be carried up to bed like a princess. It was cute at first, but now I’m over it. So please, somebody tell me how to break this bad habit? – Cesy Fernandez

My chickens are an endless source of joy and laughter for me. They are just good for the soul, and no chickens make me laugh as much as the truly stupid ones. With that said, I’d love if you would share stories of your derpy chickens here.

I’ll start- this is Snaggletooth. She may be my best layer, but she is… challenged. She’s always been a bit of a loner, but any attempt to be social was abandoned when she found these tires. She loves them, and only leaves them to eat and drink. She would sleep in them if I didn’t pick her up and move her to the coop each night. No, she’s not broody, and no, she’s not picked on by the flock. She’s not even that high-strung. She is just dim and thinks tires are home. Without fail, when I go out to tend to the chickens, I’m greeted by this sight: a chicken on her tippy toes trying her best to see over the top of her little fortress. It makes me laugh every single time. Maybe someday she will discover a sense of ambition, but for now, enjoy your tire home, Snaggletooth. – Anna Smith

We often talk about the critters that eat our birds but can we talk about the critters our birds eat? I am throughly traumatized. It was Christmas Eve here in northwest Indiana. I went out to gather eggs and say “hey” to my flock. I noticed a few sparrows in the run and thought nothing of it. The sparrows were flying around, some of the flock were kinda jumping at them. Then all of a sudden pure chaos ensued. A sparrow landed on the ground. Lucille, the white chicken, goes nuts. In an instant there’s a puff of feathers in the air. Lucille has the sparrow and is running her fastest raptor run while all the others are chasing her and squawking.

I started chasing her trying to free the sparrow, completely forgetting Hai Hai the attack devil roo (red roo in front of white chicken) and BAM! I was attacked from behind so I’m kicking and screaming looking like a fool when suddenly everybody stopped. Susie swallowed the sparrow whole and they literally all went back to what they were doing like nothing ever happened. All that’s left for proof of this crazy story is little sparrow feathers everywhere. This whole thing played out in less than a minute but has left me wondering 1. Are these birds really as sweet as I thought they were? and 2. What else have my tiny raptors eaten … alive? As I stood there processing what had just taken place I kid you not, the lyrics of Jelly Roll’s song ‘I Am Not Okay’ started playing in my head. Please tell me I’m not the only one this has happened to. – Erin Elizabeth

My girl, Sweet Pea, just snatched my diamond stud out of my ear like she pays the bills around here. She’s currently in isolation and mean-mugging me. If she lays a sparkling egg tomorrow, we’ll call it even. I’ll be sifting through piles of poop for the next few days hoping to find ¼ carat of justice. – Toni McClara

My beautiful French Marans hen Aura found the door to Narnia and disappears every evening. She comes back at 6am, disappears at 10 a.m. and I can meet her at 5-6 p.m. for an hour or two. Then she disappears for the whole night and the circle starts again. Our yard is fenced, we have no trees, there are almost no bushes. I didn’t think she could hide somewhere, but she can. Even my dogs can’t find her. I put a dog harness on her with an AirTag and I can’t wait to find Narnia, too She hates me now. – Ann Kathrin

This is Chad. He looks like a chicken. White Polish, fluffy-headed, absurdly dramatic. But don’t be fooled. Behind that cotton-ball-on-a-stick appearance lurks the heart of a tyrant. He’s young. Too young, really, to have developed such a rich inner life of aggression and spite. And yet… here we are. I thought I was raising a backyard companion. What I actually got is the feathery reincarnation of a medieval warlord with resting attack face and a deep, personal vendetta against my ankles. He pecks me daily. Not like a curious baby chicken. No. Like he’s avenging something. Something I don’t remember doing but he clearly hasn’t forgotten. He’s got the energy of a rooster who listens to true crime podcasts for tips. The puff of a Victorian judge. And the soul of a chicken who absolutely filed a hostile workplace complaint against me. And yes—before you ask—he’s in air jail in this photo. Because sometimes, when your rooster gets a little too bold, you have to give him a time-out in the wire clink to rethink his life choices. Coming this fall to Netflix: “CHAD: Fluff, Fury, and Fowl Play” One woman. One coop. Zero respect. – Melissa Coe