So – chickens. Keep them. Love them. Have always loved them, even before I was able to keep them.
When I was city-girl-wanting-to-be-country-girl, I couldn’t keep them. I know, because I read up in book. Chickens in the City: Get Eggs and Have Fun With A Backyard Flock. Must keep chicken so far from dwelling. Blah blah blah. Yard too small. Disappointed.
But still, longed for A Flock of One’s Own. Once I shook the dust of California suburbs from heels, snaffled my Welsh farmer and moved to Welsh farm, thought I was set. Hooray! All good for chickens. Purchased following items:
- Chicken Egg Hatcher. Also known as “Incubator” by men who wear flat caps and smell of pipe tobacco and know these things.
- Chicken eggs to hatch.
- “Brooder.” For new chicks to run around in.
- Chicken Feeder.
- Chicken Waterer.
I spent loads of time figuring out what kind of chickens to order. Goodness, world was my oyster! Could order any type of eggs wanted.
Decided on Araucana chickens, because they were called “Easter Egg Chicken.” Laid eggs in gorgeous shades of light blue and green. Exactly in shades found in Farrow & Ball Paint decorating book. In fact, decided that Farrow & Ball had studied chicken eggs most specifically when mixing paints. Except – F&B bragged about “Duck Egg.” No paint called “Chicken Egg.”
Still. Ordered Araucana eggs. To hatch into Araucana chickens, who would lay gorgeous “Easter Eggs.”
Because – why would not?
Will tell why not. My Araucanas HATED ME. I hatched them, cute chicks, raised them in the brooder, DOTED on them. Loved them, fed them. And when they were grown – females were terrified of me, males were nasty. Flew at me. Attacked me, spurs out. Why???? Tortured myself asking. Must be bad chicken owner.
Rich explained Araucanas were closer to original South American jungle birds. Originated in Chile, South America, named after the Araucanian (Mapuche) people of Chile who first bred them. Breed can be a bit wild.
(Please – if you keep Araucanas and love them, find them totally domesticated – do NOT write me complaining about my opinion. Admire you. Find you CHICKEN GOD. But simply do not share your experience. Must agree to disagree in this case.)
Sadly, Fox got them in the end. Burrowed into pen. Horrible.
Thought I would never keep chickens again. Traumatised by entire experience with Easter Egg Chickens.
Until Rich started talking again about chickens. Rich is always trying to find ways to get me outside. He is of the opinion – and will not lie, he has much to back him up – that I am workaholic, and spend too much time in front of the computer.
EGGS, he said. BONDING WITH CHICKENS, he said. GOING OUTSIDE TO LOOK AFTER CHICKENS. FRESH EGGS.
Were horrible last time, I pointed out. Attacked me with nasty chicken spurs. WRONG VARIETY, he said.
Let’s try Speckledys, he said. Lay lovely brown eggs. Nice and friendly. Will love them. They will love you.
Was skeptical.
But have found Rich – nearly always – right. Annoying. But still. Bought Speckledy hens. Rich reinforced chicken pen with concrete, so now is like Fort Knox. No foxes can get in.
And indeed, lovely eggs. Not blue and green, but lovely rich browny colour.
And cannot tell a lie, am now besotted by them. Are ADORABLE. They have gorgeous black and white feathers, fancy red combs, and fluffy feathery bums that make me laugh. So serious. So earnest. When I call them to bring them back into the pen before supper, they come jogging up like tiny T Rexes, keen as mustard to get their extra evening treat of peas and grain. Hilarious. They look like this:
And also, they love to come out into the garden with me. Was working out this weekend, and just look at them, keeping me company!
This one just plopped down like a floppy meringue, taking a dust bath and a bit of a preen in the rose garden, all tired out from scoffing worms, bugs, grass etc:
And this one having a bit of a PHOTO MOMENT amongst the lavender – don’t tell me she didn’t know was presenting best angle to camera!
But here’s the thing – Rich has said that neighbour called and reported more horrific fox attacks locally. Geese have been slaughtered in broad daylight. Chickens picked off. Better keep them in pen, he says. Better safe than sorry.
So I shut them in. But – wonder. What would chickens think? What would they say, if they could say? Better to stay in the pen, and stay safe?
Or wander amongst the lavender and the roses, and risk the foxes?
Freedom vs Risk…
What do you think?
Hugs,
Shann.x
