If you check out the Oxford dictionary you’ll see that ‘therapy’- a term rooted in ancient Greek and Latin meaning to cure or to heal, is defined as the treatment of an illness or problem.
In our culture we treat the mind, spirit and body as though they were completely separate entities rather than understand that what happens with one impacts the others.
Although chickens are domesticated they do connect us to nature – being outside, being aware of how other species operate in ways different than ourselves. I also think they are a link to our past when maybe life seemed simpler and more straightforward, and perhaps a tad less ominous. For some of us they are nostalgic reminders of childhood on farms, at country fairs or even petting zoos.
In a world in which our value is often measured by what we do (i.e. our occupation), how much we earn or how much ‘stuff’ we have accumulated, spending time with chickens might provide us with the excuse to slow down and push the outside world away, even for just a few minutes here or there.
Professional therapists are often out of the reach of many folks, either due to geography or finances. If you’re a chicken keeper you’ve got some feathered counsellors already at your disposal who’d be happy to spend time with you, listen to your woes, look deeply in your eyes and accept you at face value all in exchange for a little care and respect – and of course, treats are always appreciated.
Here are a few stories that demonstrate all the positive things that chickens can bring to our lives.
One year ago today, seven feathered friends settled into their new space at our place, and I became a chicken keeper. It’s my Chickenversary, if you will. I suspect a unit of measurement for my life will be: The Time Before Chickens, and The Time After. Laugh if you want to, but keeping chickens has been transformative for me, in silly, subtle, and not-so-subtle ways.
As a person with some anxiety and a tendency to be stressed out all the damn time, chicken keeping has been like medicine. I feel joy and calm when I’m with them, caring for them. They’ve given me something to nurture after sadness over my reproductive issues. They provide endless laughs with their funny antics and unique personalities. And perhaps one of the most important things is that they got me outside in the natural world 1000x more than I had been routinely before. That means more fresh air, more Vitamin D, more exercise, and more connection with nature and the little piece of land we live on. I feel healthier in many ways because of it.
I have found that I truly enjoy creating a clean, serene space for these sweet creatures that most of the world thinks aren’t important. Each morning, rain or shine, hot or cold, I’m up with the sun to let out the ladies for their day of roaming, and I happily do my chicken chores. I have missed exactly zero days of cleaning poop from the roost and coop (unless I was out of town), and so far I’ve had no losses due to predators thanks to various measures and some good luck.
I’ve buried a beloved hen. I’ve doctored a sick one and saved her. I’ve treated a hen with a cracked beak, and I’ve stopped another from bleeding out after losing a toe nail and going into shock. I’ve witnessed a broody mama raise the four chicks I brought her (bliss), and I’ve never not been excited to find an egg.
Chicken keeping isn’t for everyone, and it involves more poop than you can possibly imagine. It’s not for everyone, but it’s for me. Finding something that feels this good is rare, and I know I’m lucky. – Jenni Greer
Chicken farming – collecting – whatever you call it, started out different for me. My wife wanted a few chickens. I said I would rather poke my eyeballs out than get chickens. Of course, I acquiesced and got seven. I thought this would be short-lived and she would see the error of her ways.
The craziest thing happened. Something sparked in one of my foster children. When he was younger and being raised by ravenous wolves, the one good memory that he had was a rooster that would peck him. He would go outside to his safe place to escape the ridiculous mental and physical trauma bestowed on him by a custodian. He would sneak away and find worms and bugs for this chicken because it was not getting fed. Of course, hunger caused this chicken to peck him as it was scarfing food out of his hand but it was a fond memory.
He would barely tell us about the things that happened at that house. He tried to lock the memories up and never think about them again but a crazy thing happened.. The good memories about chickens helped him think of other good things. Naturally the bad things came to light but they didn’t seem so heavy because of the good things too. A pecking rooster helped him do that. Today, he could spend every waking hour playing with chickens if we let him.
Since that day, we have incubated, added to the flock, built a coop, two runs, and built two more. We now have almost 115 chickens. These beautiful birds are helping my beautiful son to heal. His ability to heal is helping me heal from my own childhood trauma. All brought about by a chicken. We named our place Foster Family Farms. – Ike Carr
I have been feeling really heavy the last few days, a definite weight, a constant dull ache of sadness and disappointment I hate it but I know it comes from the recognition of my heart knowing how much is wrong in the world! Whenever a wee soul leaves I feel the anger rising in me. Bracken’s departure raised a lot of anger for she signifies all that is wrong with backyard flocks.
I work daily to release the anger and disappointment I feel as a result of the interactions I have with people. It comes with becoming deeply passionate and connected with animals. It is painful. It is relentless. It is part of caring. My pain not theirs so it is tolerated because I can work to release it. But you know what?? it is fucking tiring!! It makes me feel like an over sensitive weirdo! It makes me try and fit, daily! and I switch between wanting to be compassionate and forgiving and just exploding and just being blunt!
Today I had a very disappointing and frankly insensitive message and it took hours to let it go. I went and sat with the clan, offered myself reiki and then a protective sphere for the runs, so palms open and up.
Bridget came and sat on my lap and literally placed her foot in my palm, where I had placed reiki symbols. And then she held my hand. She knew I could do with a wee love up, just a simple touch, a quiet acknowledgment of comfort. A recognition that I was sad and needed love, which in itself just lifts and breaks heart in equal measure! This should solidify in anyone that doesn’t get it, that animals are sentient and have and understand emotions!
Please open your minds and see things differently. It is time to change what we do and how we perceive others. – Haidy Mansfield
Earlier this year I texted a suicide hotline during a hopeless moment. They asked, “What’s something you’re looking forward to?” And I replied, “It might sound stupid, but I’m looking forward to when my hens lay their first egg.” Here it is: hope. – Unknown
Seven years ago today, right about now, I sat on the edge of my bed in a state of surreal shock. Out of the corner of my eye I could see Bobby Bob Bob, my beloved hen, all comfy in her crate on the other side of the room. Her eyes were open looking at me. I’d just gotten off the phone with the organ donation people. My partner of 13 years, Justin, had just died suddenly a few hours earlier and I don’t remember much of what I felt sitting on that bed, except for feeling some sort of massive void, oh, and I also felt like throwing up, which I ended up doing a lot of.
As I sat there staring, Bobby got up out of her bed and waddled over to me. It was way past her bedtime and she’d usually never get out of her bed for anything. I was too numb to think much of it as she waddled over to me. She stopped right in front of my feet, looked up at me, tilted her head and then she jumped up on me. She made herself comfortable on my lap and proceeded to fall asleep. I clearly remember a tear rolling down my face as she settled on my lap. My beautiful little hen was able to read me from the other side of the room and knew just what she needed to do. For the next few months she would insist on sleeping on me whilst I slept. She then went back to sleeping in her crate after a few months and the only other time she insisted on sleeping on me was in the weeks before her death.
Chickens are highly emotional animals. They can read you. They know what’s going on. I’ll never forget my precious little hen coming over to me when I needed her most that night. – Tamara Keneally
Thanks to everyone who shared their stories and photos. Featured photo credit: Lindsay Storey Smalley
“Not all heroes wear capes. Some wear chicken saddles.”
Bitchin' Chickens 
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