This is a personal chicken story of a reader of Chicken Clucks who wants to stay anonymous. Let’s call her Clucka Svensson, since she is Swedish and loves chickens. Herewith her personal story:
I grew up in a farmhouse built by my great-grandfather, out in the middle of the deep woods of Sweden. As a child, I was absolutely surrounded by animals; pets, barn animals and forest dwellers alike. Cows, horses, donkeys, sheep, dogs, cats, chicken, moose, deer, roebucks, foxes, badgers and hares – we were in close contact with all of them, constantly. We tamed a hedgehog that resided under the outside stairs, we cuddled wild kittens, and we stood in amazement by the windows to watch as the magnificent moose picked our cherry trees clean and munched on our fallen apples.
After school, I had my first two children. We were a happy little family, but still… there was something missing. Sure, we had a cat and a dog. But I couldn’t help it, I missed life on the farm!
The Miracle
I wanted my children to know what it was like. My siblings and I were always surrounded by nature. We grew our own food, we tended our own animals… I wanted my kids to have all (or at least some of) that! As soon as the opportunity arose, we moved into a little house with a garden, at the edge of the woods. At first, I just thought that we would plant some potatoes and grow some carrots, but then…
In the garden, I saw something very interesting. It was an old shed, with three rusted-shut doors. I pried the doors open, one by one, with all of my might, and it was like a sign! Stuffed inside, there were big rolls of wire fence and poles, left behind by the previous owner of the property.
My mind went immediately to the one barn animal that doubles as maybe the most perfect pet in existence. They wake you up for breakfast, they make your breakfast, they hang out with you and make funny noises… Can you guess which one I’m talking about..?
My sister’s friend’s mother owned a big farm right outside of town. I mentioned in fly-by that I’d love to have some chickens in my yard. She looked extremely excited, and she made me an offer: I’d get to rent an egg-heater and seven eggs at a very reasonable price. I hardly even thought about it. The investment is nothing compared to what you get in return. I took the heater and the eggs home with me immediately, and placed it all in a safe space on the kitchen counter; away from poking fingers and sniffing dogs.
So How Do You Chicken?
Before the chicks hatched, I did a lot of research to ensure I was fully prepared. I bought chicken feed and cleared out the space near the little sheds. To secure the area, I dug a trench and fastened the wire fence and poles tightly. For their comfort and enjoyment, I planted tufts of wild grass, giving them a place to eat and even play hide-and-seek. I also made little chicken bunk beds from shelves mounted on the walls, hanging curtains to create a cozy atmosphere. Additionally, I gathered tall, thick grass, which I dried and turned into hay for them to sleep in. To top it off, I read every chicken blog I could find.
Even though we were busy preparing, it felt like we were waiting forever. The kids were young, so they weren’t exactly sure why I put a little bowl of eggs on the counter, or why they were helping me dig up the yard and build a huge cage (where their uncle ever so kindly told them was their new room), but they happily “worked” alongside me, tirelessly, from dawn till dusk.
The Crackle
Late one night, my son had a hard time going to bed. I walked back and forth in the kitchen, with him in my arms, singing him to sleep. Somewhere in between Baa-Baa Black Sheep and You Are My Sunshine, suddenly we both quieted down and froze on the spot. There it was again! We heard a strange noise… It was a weak, almost inaudible squeak. We waited. One squeak turned into more, and soon, there was a whole orchestra of peep-peeps coming from the corner.
My son looked up at me, pointed over at the noise, excitedly saying, “Eh? Eh!” I brought him over to see, and we watched something amazing: One of the eggs was breaking from the inside! Out stuck a little beak, and then a head, and then a wing and a leg.
The urge to help them out is absolutely overwhelming – but you have to fight it. They have to do it on their own. We looked on as the first chicken was born into this world. My son stared in silence, eyes as wide as saucers and as deep as wells.
It’s not like in films, where all chickens are yellow. They come in all kinds of colors, shapes and sizes. The first one was a speckled kind of brown. Only one of them was actually yellow. We called it Bianca Castafiore. We thought, since the chick was yellow, it would grow up to be a white hen (“bianco” means white). The rest of them were light to dark brown and gray, and they were so cute, you could just melt!
Finishing Touches
After the first came the rest. I laughed in sheer happiness as they all crawled out of their shells and started moving around. In the morning, we put them in a nice, warm cardboard box full of baby chicken feed, tiny water bowls, and soft things, in case they should fall over.
In only a few days, the chickens were all flapping around, thinking they were ready to take on the world. While they were safe inside the house, we did some more work out in the yard and coop. We built them some stairs so that they could walk inside whenever they wanted, hung up some big sticks for them to sit on, and we reinforced the edges of the enclosure with more chicken wire in case of predators.
My only serious worry at the time was my big, male, adult cat. To my great surprise, though, it didn’t take a lot of shooing before he realized that the chickens were not for eating – they lived here now. And why not? He had gotten used to the dog, after all, and he had hated him at first. Crazily enough, the cat didn’t try to eat a single chicken. He rather accepted that they were just other biped weirdos joining the family.
What a (not-so)Clucking Surprise!
We watched the little fluff balls grow into properly feathered poultry. Since we were always spending time with them and carrying them around, they were as tame as any other pet. They sat on our shoulders, they came up onto the porch to have breakfast with us, and they were always talking. I kept daydreaming about how nice it was going to be once they all started laying eggs…
Then, one day, the hoarse, squawking, unmistakable cock-a-doodle-doo that could only belong to a chicken of the male variety squeezed itself out of Bianca Castafiore. I thought, “Oh… Oh well, out of seven, at least one would have to be a rooster, wouldn’t it?”
Boy, was I right about at least… Over the next few days, the ever growing chickens started getting suspiciously big tail feathers. One by one, they all started belting out their beautiful morning song all day long. They started competing and bickering. They stood face-to-face, staring each other down, and went up on their tippy-toes. In a really awkward looking motion, they bent over, looking like their backs were absolutely snapping in half, and screamed as loudly as they could – COCK-A-DOODLE-DOOOOO! It was like the world’s loudest rap battle, and it never stopped.
Out of the seven eggs, seven were roosters. Loud, fighting, messy roosters, and I had a decision to make. I consulted the farmer who sold them to me, and she suggested we’d make a trade. She’d take the roosters back, and I’d get a new lot of eggs. I had to say good-bye to six of my little feathery friends, but we kept one. After all, a chicken yard needs a good rooster!
Starting Over
Bianca Castafiore (whom we did not rename) was now king of the castle. He was big, he was yellow with beautiful multi-coloured tail feathers, and he had some new little friends to care for – which he did, with utmost vigilance and bravery. Ka-ka and Ouie (yes, the kids named them) grew into big, speckled hens that lay sizable eggs pretty much daily. Sooty, the dwarf hen, lay tiny, almost blue eggs. Even when they were as big as my daughter, they would still sit on her knee out in the garden. She petted them, told them stories and sang them songs, like the most awesome mother hen ever.
In short, when you have chickens, every day is an adventure. You get up at the sound of a rooster, go outside for chicken-breakfast, and look for eggs in the hay. The yolks were golden and tasted like heaven. I attribute it to all the fresh grass they got to eat along with their chicken feed. We fried, boiled and poached all the eggs we could eat, and we baked every weekend. It was absolutely amazing!
In Conclusion…
Chicken are the best pets! They are easy to care for, they’re easy to love, they make the best breakfast a human could possibly dream. If you ever get the chance – get yourself some backyard hens!
When you also want to start your own flock, first ask yourself a few important questions.
