Chicken stress is real. If you know, you know.
Chickens are a great idea, in theory. Also, in theory, theory and reality are the same thing.
The idea is simple. You provide some hens with a safe place to sleep, food, water and some table scraps, and they provide you with plentiful, healthy and (crucially) free eggs. Or at least that’s what my hens were selling when they convinced me to adopt their entire flock.
One week in, the plan starts to unravel. There’s always that one. The Houdini-ass escape artist. She flies over, you clip her wings. She crawls under, you peg the entire fence. She squeezes through a hole, you sew up the net. She recruits followers, and now she’s leading a gaggle of hens on a break for freedom. Turns out the movie Chicken Run is based on reality.
Meanwhile, inside the fence, the ancient origins of the expression “pecking order” become apparent as a Fowl Fight Club breaks out across the prison yard. You separate the damaged, bullied hens. You have an idea: ditch these fighting Brown Shavers and go for a classier breed, some mellow Hy-Lines. They fight less, and are not aggressively trying to escape every second of every day. But wait, where the hell are the eggs? The Hy-Lines compulsively hide their clutches, and now you’re stuck doing a competitive, professional-level easter egg hunt every day before breakfast. This involves checking the dozen-or-so hidden nests that you know of, and seeding them with fake eggs to trick the chooks into laying their eggs where you can actually find them.
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The Hy-Lines also insist the grass is greener on the other side. They love to stick their necks through the fence to get the fresh stuff, but lose their neck feathers in the process. They start to look rough.
And then the ferrets show up and wage henocide on the entire brood. Jerks. Now you’re digging holes and placing large rocks on top of them for camouflage before your kids realise Blueberry Head, Lucy and Henrietta have flown to chicken heaven.
Finally, you have the automatic feeder and the large capacity water trough, you’ve got the roost off the ground and away from the ferrets, and everyone is starting to behave. Phew. You find the fresh eggs for your Saturday eggs bennie. The axe stays in the shed for another day.
Nathan Weathington
