"No, we are not getting chickens."
Thus decreed my husband. (Just to clarify at the outset: this isn't about marital discord). My long-held, secret desire for chickens became extrinsic when we moved to our current house 10 years ago. Saying it for the first time, and bearing the incredulity, was the hardest part. Once I came out of the poultry closet, it was just a matter of repeat, ad nauseam.
The first Covid lockdown prompted feverish makeovers of many an Irish home. Gardens, sheds, attics, wardrobes – anything that stood still long enough was found wanting under hours of enforced scrutiny. Marie Kondo-ing gave way to sourdough, followed by the ubiquitous banana bread, and we discovered we couldn’t live with or without Zoom.
Gardening and outdoor activities have both increased, and are likely to remain in people’s lives as the overwhelmingly positive effects, both physical and mental, have been documented well. Lockdown didn’t make us want poultry: it simply gave me more time to work on my husband (“No, we are DEFINITELY not getting chickens: are you mad??”)
This really isn’t about marital discord.
Did you know chickens put themselves to bed once twilight falls?
People who are opposed to poultry cite many arguments. You need a huge site. You can’t go away overnight and leave them. You have to be up at the crack of dawn every day. They’re smelly. They attract rodents. They destroy your garden. And the timeless adage: a hen always dies in debt.
We set about researching the topic diligently and discovered a world of enthusiastic and incredibly helpful poultry keepers, where owners name their chickens, know the ins and outs of each breed’s characteristics, and cuddle their chickens like lap dogs. Where they say collecting a freshly laid, warm egg is one of life’s simplest but greatest pleasures, and the taste is out of this world.
As for the naysayers: we have only a moderately sized town garden, and have dedicated a section of it to the poultry easily. Automatic chicken doors lock your chickens up safely at night, and let them out in the morning according to either your preset times or the amount of daylight (did you know chickens put themselves to bed once twilight falls?), Treadle feeders and lids keep food away from rodents and wild birds. The proper bedding absorbs poo and smell. Prize areas in your garden are easily fenced off. In terms of debt: a hybrid chicken that is ready to lay generally costs around €12-€15 (hybrids are bred to be superb egg layers for the initial years of their life, giving an immediate return, while pure breds generally lay a little less frequently, but over a longer period of time.) Chicks cost as little as €5, and hatching eggs (if you want to incubate your own) as little as 50 cent.
An hour after getting our three chickens, my husband said: “We’ve definitely room for one more in there: let’s get another one!”
Eleven months in, I can tell you there truly is nothing like the creamy, sunshiny goodness of your own hen’s egg, laid seconds earlier and still warm to the touch. Friends and family get frequent gifts of a box of eggs, complete with our seven year old’s designs on the egg box. Chickens do, indeed, love a back rub as they squat submissively in front of you to be stroked (never mind that this is a substitute for a rooster’s . . .attentions). Our garden remains intact due to moveable, discreet fencing.
There is a real, little-known danger in this whole field. Seasoned poultry keepers refer to chickens as the 'gateway' creature
Watching them wander around, sunbathing on a hot day, and dust bathing under a bush, is immensely therapeutic. We find we’re enjoying being out in the garden every day, no matter the weather, when we would have been squarely, “Ah, it looks like rain, we’d better stay in,” type of people. They rush up to us when they see us coming, with pleasant bok-bok sounds. A few minutes’ peace in the evening is watching them queue up and put themselves to bed in their coop quietly as darkness falls. It’s a moment of idyllic calm in an often frenetic world.
A week with hens
For those considering poultry, we would recommend it unreservedly. We haven’t gone away yet (due to Covid), and our hens range free in part of our garden at the moment, but we’re looking into adding pens next year. Below is our daily and weekly timetable, along with some pros and cons, to give you an idea of what’s involved realistically.
Daily
Ten minutes in the morning: open coop, bring food and water out, check for early laid eggs, quick scoop and refresh of soiled bedding.
Five minutes in the evening: collect remaining eggs, close coop door, bring feeders and waterers in for the night.
Weekly
Twenty-30 minutes: put old bedding in composter, replace with fresh bedding, spray and clean coop, check over birds' health while giving them cuddles, wash and replace feeders and waterers.
If your chickens stay confined to a run, adding the droppings from this to your composter forms part of your weekly clean. If they free range, as ours do, they will naturally fertilise the lawn, and you might just tread judiciously - or invest in a pair of wellies (festival style!). A word of warning: chickens don’t discriminate between your lawn and your patio or back step - so you might blast these with a hose, if you decide not to fence off certain areas.
Pros: your own eggs, incomparable to anything in the shops. Hours of fun watching their antics. Getting out into the fresh air daily. Teaching children sustainability, where food comes from, care of animals, and appreciation of nature.
Cons: a modicum of work is required. Weird, flying-saucer shaped depressions in your garden where they take their dust baths. Initial outlay for coop, equipment, and stock. Hours of productivity lost watching their antics. People think you've turned into a crazy chicken lady.
There is a real, little-known danger in this whole field. Seasoned poultry keepers refer to chickens as the “gateway” creature, and speak of a phenomenon known as “chicken maths”. We started out 11 months ago with three chickens (followed swiftly by a fourth). We now have four chickens, five ducks, and seven hatching eggs currently in the incubator.
No, we are not getting quail . . .
