Spring Chicken

We have a chicken problem.  A chicken population problem, to be precise.  Our ladies tend to live to a ripe old age—for chickens.  Our oldest hen, Caca, is 10 years old and as slow and stubborn as my tough-as-nails grandmother was at 90.  We offer all of our chickens the Henopause Retirement Plan.  In exchange for 2-to-3 years of regular egg-laying service, they get to live out their natural lives in peace, with the same quality treatment as our younger, laying ladies.

It’s not like we need more chickens, but by January, when I’m itching for spring, I can’t resist putting in an order for new babies.  Cream Brabanters, Blue Splash Marans, Golden Jubilee Orpingtons, Cuckoo Bluebar Blue Eggers… so many exciting breeds to choose from!  Every flock needs at least two of each.

I’m not super into the fuzzy, day-old chick look.  Rather I like them at about four weeks, when they are fully feathered but still tiny, looking like grown up chickens, but miniaturized.  That’s the point when we let them roam free in the back yard from dawn to dusk.  You can spot their tiny, fluffy chicken butts poking in and out of garden beds, scurrying along the stone paths, all day long.  I turn a corner, catch a little chicken scooting under a shrub, and I’m in love. 

But wait, there’s more!  Baby chicks are a gardener’s best friend.  I never have problems with Japanese beetles when we have babies ranging in the back yard—they love to eat grubs, and adult beetles, too.  Snails and slugs—gone.  Ticks… ok, maybe.  The truth is, chickens of all ages and sizes look for bigger fare.

The babies never roam too far from the back porch, where they roost in a dog crate until they’re ready to move in with the grown-ups.  In the morning, we open the door to the crate, and they run straight out the porch door into the garden.  After a long day of bug hunting, dust bathing, napping and exploring, their circuitous wanderings bring them closer and closer to the porch.  And as the sun sinks low in the sky, they line up by the door, waiting to be let in so they can run to the crate and jump up on their little roost for a good night of sleep.