Coq Au Vin - The Romantic; And Our First Egg.

Coq Au Vin – the romantic and our first egg

As they grew through that summer an into fall we began to notice how Coq Au was beginning to ‘Rooster’ and saw that it was (mostly) good.

There comes a time in every young man’s life that he ‘notices’ girls in a very different way. So too did that time come for our little Coq Au. The first real evidence of this was while hand feeding him treats, he gently picked up a tasty bread crumb from my hand and did NOT eat it! He lifted his head up straight and proud and ‘twirred’ I guess you’d call it. The sound is something like a cross between the coo of a dove with a bit of chicken-like baritone and a little more vibrato. He made this noise to call over one of the hens and he gave the bread crumb to her! He still does this to this day, whether it is a bread crumb (his favorite) a mealworms, a bug, or a blueberry stolen from the neighbor’s bush. My wife and I positively gushed with how sweet he is and how he puts the hens first! That is also still true to this day.

Around this time came what could not be mistaken for anything else but a mating dance. He began to dance. Whenever he was feeling enamorously infatuated with a particular hen, he would stiffen one leg rigid and dance in a circle on it around the hen. The mating commenced immediately after whether she was particularly inclined or not!

Naturally, this shocked herself and I a little, but hey, I had memories of this with our chickens growing up, so we got over it quickly. The hens took a little more time to get used to it … after all they were still new at this whole thing too! When poor little Hortense was mounted for the first time she fainted. That isn’t hyperbole … he mounted her, soon dislodged himself, and she just sat there. My wife and I rushed over fearing she was injured and she was limp and seemingly lifeless when we picked her up, but she quickly snapped out of it and came around. Who knew that chickens could faint???? She sat quietly on my lap for a bit until she recovered herself, a few special treats for her and off she went.

Hermione … on the other hand …

Hermione was growing to be our smallest hen, yet within the world of chicken politics, she was decidedly the alpha! She would pick on girls larger than her if they got in her way. Once everyone got the idea of this whole mating business she would literally squat in front of himself and present her bottom in what I could only guess would be a pornographic way in the world of chickens. What’s more, if he took an interest in mating with another girl, she would attempt to rush in and chase her away!

In those early days, he was so intent (like newly minted young men are) on mating as often as possible. It got to the point where when we’d open the little peep door in the early morning to let them out of the coop, he’d rush out first and the hens would remain hesitantly inside. They knew the first girl out of the door was in for a rape. They would draw straws, debate, conduct a short union meeting, take a vote, then ultimately push one of the hens out. While he was distracted, the others would rush out and perch on the relative safety of the old outside chair where they could continue the morning union meeting in peace.

Now, the correct ration for hens to roosters is about one rooster for a dozen hens. We had seven hens, so we weren’t too far off of the mark. There are good reasons to own a rooster for the health and safety of your flock, but if you only have … say … two hens … do not get a rooster! They will wear those poor girls out ‘knocking the bottom out of it’ at every opportunity! After a time, we noticed that several of his ‘favorite’ girls were ‘over-mated’. Meaning, he had rubbed the feathers off of their backs and continued until the flesh under was a little raw. In summer, they even became a little sunburned. Here is a photo, zoom in on the girls, those are bald patches!

 

Some corn starch on their backs helped ease their pain and in spite of my misgivings, my wife ordered ‘chicken saddles’ which, apparently, are a real thing! See this picture of some of the girls sporting their new saddles.

 

Apart from his sexual misconduct, Coq Au was also becoming a good leader in the real sense of the word. Chickens spend a lot of time gazing at the ground in an endless search for tasty morsels. Roosters do not. Coq Au has missed many a treat tossed SPECIFICALLY in his direction because he’s too slow to react about things on the ground and even if the bread crumb bounced off his chest, and he bends down to retrieve it, a fast hen from some distance away would RUSH over and gain the prize in a mere instant before his beak could connect with the object of his hunger.

But he’s built that way. He’s meant to keep his head up. He’s watching the surroundings so his girls can eat in peace. Many times he would growl when a dark shape loomed over head which served well to alert me of a predator taking wing on high long before I had seen it myself. If I wasn’t immediately at hand, he would lead the girls to the safety of tree cover or the run.

He would also corral the girls to keep an eye on them. More than once I witnessed my wife spot a girl that had strayed away. She would sharply call his name “COQ AU!” he’d look at her directly with his full attention and squawk once or twice … she’d follow with “Where’s the girl?”, to which he’d look around and squawk again. Then she’d point in the hen’s direction and state pointedly “Go get the girl, Coq Au, go get the girl!” He would then invariably march off on that direction and scold that hen the whole way back to the flock!

With the girls and the rooster now just about fully grown, we were desperate to look in the nesting boxes to find our first egg. Each morning we would interrupt the union meeting to explain the situation and that upper management was becoming increasingly concerned over the lack-of-egg issue. The hens’ union rep ensured us that work would be on schedule and not one minute before regardless of the pressure of top brass!

Then ... one fine day late in August, it happened! Our first egg! Tiny it was. Perfectly formed. I waited for my wife to get home just so I could show it to her! There were special treats all around and praise for the hens, the union rep, and even for Coq Au! We fried this tiny egg and each had a small forkful. I remember well the taste of farm fresh eggs from well cared for hens and though small, the half I ate was not a disappointment. For my wife, this was a first experience and she was profoundly affected by how different and wonderful it was compared to the usual eggs one gets at the store.

 

Yes, we were well satisfied with our little flock. We figured the bliss of this moment would go on forever … but it was not to be … there were still more changes to come.

Two Early Medical Emergencies.

Two early medical emergencies.

This post will not be about the rooster. For those of you who’s patience is growing thin, there WILL be posts in the near future about how and why he is a douche bag … but for now, I’m still kind of covering the vast and uninteresting body of tales about their growing up and our early experiences being first-time chicken owners.

When you obsess about your birds, you keep a close eye on them and delight in the wonderful little traits they exhibit. You also notice quickly when something is amiss and that can be the difference between a live hen and a dead hen.

Our first medical emergency came when they were still quite young. The time between finishing the chicken run and the birds being old enough to be out in the coop meant that a goodly bit of spring grass grew inside the run … as it is, I am against mowing for the sheer fact that I don’t like doing it and I wasn’t about to attempt to drag the mower INSIDE the chicken run to mow the damn grass.

So, chickens as I said, will eat just about anything and it’s quite healthy for them to do so. They will strip every green thing growing in a chicken run in short order. At one point (later on and not part of this tale) my wife had put a planter of flowers INSIDE the run. I asked her what on earth she did that for and she answered ‘so they can eat them.’ As if that were a natural thing for a person to do. I won’t state what sort of flowers because I don’t remember now, and I wouldn’t want someone putting flowers in their chicken run if they were the wrong sort! Anyway, the young pullets were in the run and the grass was kind of shaggy.

One fine Sunday morning I went out to the chickens and … because I obsess … I noticed Hildegard wasn’t quite herself. Not quite right. I called my wife outside to verify that I wasn’t crazy. She naturally stated that she felt quite secure that I was crazy, but not over this particular issue. There was something off about Hildegard. She was not eating, moving slow, and staying a bit away from the flock. We picked her up and offered a few mealworms to see if she would eat. She did look interested, but wouldn’t eat them. Her crop was swollen like after a full meal but kind of hard … not rock hard … but kind of hard. What is a full crop SUPPOSED to feel like anyway? (For the incredibly curious, I suggest you look up the digestive tract of a hen and you will discover what a crop is and what it’s for). We didn’t know what to do, but we knew that a chicken who was not eating could go down fast. To the interwebs we rushed to consult the various online chicken bibles!

Since the crop wasn’t hard as a rock, we deduced that it wasn’t overly serious and read the advice on just what to do. Now, you must remember that no person possessed of good sense would call a vet for a $6 bird … and with a small flock of them to take care of, those vet bills could quickly kill you. We had to learn this stuff ourselves. We figured by her symptoms that her crop was jammed up by the long grass that she had eaten and if it wasn’t cleared, she could die. Upon learning what to do ... including watching a couple of graphic videos on the subject of how to treat an impacted crop in your hen, I went out to try this REAL LIFE ACTUAL technique. I picked up frightened lil Hildegard, held her upside down, and massaged the mass in her crop to encourage it to dislodge and thus she would sick it up. I produced little to no results, but my wife patiently repeated the process over the next two or three days while I was at work and Hildegard passed what was stuck in her crop. She was as right as rain after that, my wife was relieved, and I was more in love with her than ever.

The next emergency came a couple of weeks later. My wife was out in the yard with the flock. She came running in flustered and exclaimed “There’s something wrong with Hortense! She's making a disturbing noise!” I’m not overly excitable, but still grew suddenly concerned. “What kind of noise? Chickens make a lot of noises.”

My wife: “No! This is not a ‘right’ noise, this is a ‘wrong’ noise!”

I followed and once in the yard over by the mulberry tree I spied Hortense happily foraging with the flock. “She looks fine.”
My wife: “No! I was right here and she made a noise! And keeps doing it! Something is wrong with her!”
Hortense: “EEP!”
Me: “Holy crap! Is that the noise???”
My wife: “Yes! See?”

I then grew very concerned, but put my fact-gathering analytical mind to work … it is kind of a crisis reaction for me.

Me: “Okay … how long has she been making this noise?”
My wife: “I’m not sure!” about a half and hour or so?”
Me: “And where were you when you first …
Hortense: “EEP!”
… heard it … Holy crap!”
My wife, now growing excitably concerned: “Right here!”
Me: “Okay … and where was she?”
My wife: “Right there!”
Hortense: “EEP!”
Me: “Anyone else making that noise?”
My wife: “No, just Hortense!”
Me: “Okay … stay here, keep a close eye on her … I’m going to find out what this is. If anything changes, come get me!”
Hortense: "EEP!"

Now greatly concerned, but determined, I rushed into the house to once again consult the chicken gurus about what could be causing this new horrible affliction. About fifteen minutes later of searching, reading, and even watching a couple of video-films on the YouTubes … I sighed deeply with realization of exactly what was wrong.

Knowing there was nothing we could do … helpless to change the circumstances under which Hortense was “EEPing”, I slowly strode back out to my wife. She looked at me with a disconcerting look of distress on her face, awaiting to learn what I may have discovered and what we could do to save the poor baby.

With a serious tone a broke the news to her. “Honey … she has the hiccups.”

To this day, when we occasionally hear a series of “EEPS!” from one of the girls, we still smile, partially out of a sense of relief that they are healthy and happy, and partially out of the humor of our own ignorance.

Learning To 'Chicken'.

Learning to ‘chicken’

So … that summer wore on and when closely watched, the little flock would forage the yard looking for treats and enjoying treats from our hand. The more they gather in tasty plants and bugs, the less feed you go through and the birds are all the healthier for it. Ermatrude even learned a new game. She would hop on my lap, I’d give her some meal worms from my hand and once they were gone, she would hop off, walk around to the other side of my lap and hop back … convinced that I would believe she was a totally different hen and thus get more meal worms. And y’know what? It still works every time.

They’ll eat almost anything and my wife was surprised when she broke up a heated discussion between the girls about WHO was going to get to eat the toad one of them caught. They also learned that when mommy has her shovel out, they get worms! Here is a pic of Hermione ‘helping’ my wife dig in the garden.

Apart from what you’d expect chickens to eat … they might also try:
mice
wild strawberry
Bit of paper plate
An old cigarette butt
Your shoe laces
That weird spot on your hand
Apples
Churches
Gravy
Very small rocks

And on and on. Do NOT give your chickens things they shouldn’t eat and PLEASE consult one of those high-falootin’ chicken blogs to get a comprehensive list! But, since I am touching on the topic … if you’re the sort that perfectly trims your lawn, weeds every day, and sprays around chemical pesticides … whether you have chickens or not … STOP IT! I could go on and on about the health benefits of the dandelion alone as a food source for chickens, people, and bees alike, but I won’t unless pressed into the issue. Your yard, even a small one, will be a wondrous mini ecosystem if you simply let a few native wild plants grow, mow a little less often, and STOP using chemical pesticides!

We were very much waiting for TWO IMPORTANT milestones … 1) For our first egg and 2) For Coq Au Vin to crow his first crow.

Now, you have to understand our little patch of suburban NJ. Everyone has somewhere between a quarter acre to an acre. Fairly tight little bedroom community. In my neighborhood there are elements that like to have parties into the small hours of the morning. Not raucous affairs, but some late night noise and carousing. Truthfully, nothing is over the top and I bear it with only small annoyance and my wife with a little less than small annoyance. A few fireworks are present at almost every holiday from Memorial Day through Labor Day plus a few on New Year’s Eve and the like. My wife and I are early risers, but it’s not really anything more than an annoyance.

With this in mind, she and I would often sit on our porch in the early morning watching our little flock enjoying the gathering light of day. On these mornings in the summer of 2014, my wife would gaze lovingly at Coq Au … our son … our hand-raised baby … and gleefully say “C’mon, baby … crow! Crow for mommy!” And then came the morning that he did just that. Flapped a few mighty flaps, crooked his head skyward, and exclaimed for the entire neighborhood and a strong declaration to those nursing their hangovers “FUCK-A-DOODLE-YOOOOUUUU!” A few open summer windows slammed shut and it was a proud and deeply satisfying moment for herself and I!

Growing Up.

Growing up

Time in the playpen under the heat lamp is that special time when new parents take pictures, obsess over the details, grandma visits, and baby chicks start feathering out, developing personalities and growing up.

 

By late April they were becoming larger, entering that awkward phase, and becoming antsy! Each day the playpen was becoming smaller and they were becoming eager to explore. By the beginning of May I was thinking on moving them to the coop, but a nervous mommy (my lovely wife) and a late spring cold snap had us keeping the girls inside until they were more than ready to face the big world outside.

Funny … it never occurred to us that the door to the spare room was too small to wheel the playpen outside to the run. We thought about bringing the girls (and Coq Au … you remember Coq Au. This is a blog about Coq Au) out there one by one. The cats were all in favor of this idea which only made herself and I all the more wary of ‘plan B’. Instead, we overrode democracy, out voted the cats, and instituted plan C. We got a large wicker laundry basket and a very large beach towel to cover it. I grabbed a nervous hen, my wife pulled back the towel, in went Ermatrude, and my wife covered the basket with the towel again. Next came Myrtle, but when she pulled back the towel, out popped Ermatrude. A few attempts, a few hens in, and it became a weird livestock version of ‘whack-a-mole’ with random little chicken heads popping out of the corners of the towel each time a hint of daylight was revealed and we had to time precisely how to pull back the towel, get a young pullet inside, and close it again before increasingly anxious chickens spilled out in all directions. This game became increasingly challenging with each addition. But, perseverance won the day and we got them into the basket. Coq Au Vin and all.

 

Out to the coop they went. We spent the day agonizing and fawning over every detail. Coq Au, although still but a young wisp of a cockerel, was already beginning to plot how to become a douche bag and how to wrest control of the situation from the obviously inferior humans (remember, we’ve dotted on him as much or more than any of the wee hens!)

 

I should note here that baby chicks are incredibly adorable. Roosters and hens are majestic in their somewhat frumpy way. But ‘teen’ pullets and cockerels are about the most awkward creatures that ever drew breath.

 

Never the less, they started showing their personalities. Hermione, the smallest hen, ran the show with the other girls. Hildegard liked to perch higher than everyone. Hortense like her ‘me’ time by herself. Myrtle could snatch and go with treats faster than anyone … bent toe and all. Coq Au Vin, in his quiet, watchful way, began to develop a sense of purpose in his black, black heart (which pumps not blood, like yours and mine, but a thick viscous oil of vitriolic hatred). He was beginning to decide that it was his personal mission to protect his girls at all costs and take utter contempt toward all things un-chicken! And he’s essentially right.

Well … so … we also noticed that they took to the habit of conducting morning meetings. It can not be told what they would discuss amongst themselves, they had a tendency to get real quiet as soon as anyone was in earshot. My wife did try to chair a couple of these morning meetings, but her authority, as recognized by the flock, was ceremonial at best and only lasted as long as treats could be distributed.

 

There would be more growing to do. And a lot of learning. The chickens had things to learn also!

 

Doting on Our Chicks and Building a Run.

Doting on our chicks and building a run.

If you’ve been reading along this far, you may realize that I mentioned that we were to get five hens and one roo, but provided eight names in all. Why? Because when we arrived to pick up the chicks there were eight in the wee hatchery at the farm. My wife looked at the chicks and then looked at me. Then she looked at the chicks and then again at me. So, I forked over the additional $11.98 and we ended up with eight baby chicks in all. The kind folks explained that the wee green patch under the chin of one of the chicks was an indication that one of them was, indeed, a roo. Then, they had me sign a legal document explaining that I was buying these birds as LIVESTOCK and not as pets … which is against the laws of nature, apparently. Not wanting to run afoul of the farm cops, or whatever state agency thinks that a reasonable person needs to be reminded that keeping a chicken in the house as a pet is a really dumb idea (and trust me, it is), I signed, paid, and herself and I were on our way with our little brood.

As for spoiling the new babies, I could list the things you should do to ensure healthy, happy babies, but that is all over the more educated chicken blogs so I’ll leave it to them to inform the curious. While we did the usual things such as measuring the feed, taking care of ‘pasty butt’, and playing with them (yes, that’s important too, they have no mother after all), the things we did above and beyond that include:

Playing Billie Holiday during daylight hours to sooth them and get them used to human voices even when we weren’t around.

Bringing in special treats that were age appropriate as they grew such as yogurt, bananas, later on a few meal worms, and the like.

Worrying over Myrtle’s bent toe (if caught right away, these can sometimes be fixed, but we felt Myrtle might have gone too long and trying to fix it may have made it worse … if a baby chick is debilitated due to this then the humane thing to do is put them down, but Myrtle was and is fine … bent toe and all).

Playing ‘baby chick tag’ … easy enough. After about a week, they are old enough for more treats. Toss in a blueberry. One chick will grab it and run and the others will give chase. It makes no difference if you toss in MORE blueberries … they will be ignored until the chase is sorted out.

Holding the baby chicks on your finger to teach them to perch and get used to being handled. None stood prouder on my finger than wee Coq Au Vin! (You remember Coq Au, this is a blog about Coq Au).

The cats took particular interest as well. I know their intentions were good and I am sure they would have liked to personally meet the baby chicks to ensure their health and welfare, but my wife and I thought the stress of it all would’ve been too much for our two felines and we didn’t want to expose them to all of that worry. So, Moonkie and Osha were relegated to staying OUT of that room, though they did often perch themselves at the door outside desperately trying to peer under the crack.

Quick side note concerning the naming of cats. Herself and I are TV junkies and one of our ‘stories’ we like to watch is Game of Thrones. With this in mind and realizing the importance of naming cats their full names are as follows …

The cat we chose:
Moonkitty Veronica Corningstone-Masters Gill Esq., the Doonk of Donkey, and the first of her name.

The abandoned cat that no one wanted who came to live with us:
Osha Street (‘street’ being the bastard name given to illegitimate births in the NJ part of the realm).

What you’re thinking is correct. My wife and I are not well.

Meanwhile, the clock was ticking on getting the run ready. I built the run myself, but part of making it secure is by digging a trench around it and burying the chicken wire a good half a foot underground to prevent digging predators. Yes, this is a real thing.

Here’s a short story about it from my distant past:
When I was small, my parents decided to get chickens and with five acres surrounded by MANY acres of protected woodlands this was not even an issue. They converted an old shed and obtained some chickens from the neighbors. They built and open top run and didn’t bury the wire. The run was tree covered, so threat from birds of prey was minimal. Well … one night a raccoon had gotten into the coop and the hens kicked up quite a fuss, as did Romeo (the old rooster we had). Now, I love and respect wild life … I respect life in all of its forms. But when there is a predator in the coop, they need to be dispatched. Raccoons are cute, funny, adorable little animals with as much right to live and follow their nature as any other living being … but when cornered in the back of your hen house, muzzle covered in the blood of the injured hen before him, they are a lot less adorable. He found himself on the wrong side of my father’s thirty aught six. The hen also needed to be put down and thus two lives were wasted.

Not wanting to repeat a scene like that if at all avoidable, I decided I needed to dig the damn trench and bury the wire. My day to day desk job means that doing this kind of physical labor could’ve been difficult and overly time consuming by myself with the chicks getting larger day by day … so plying them with the promise of beer and pizza, I bribed my close friends to come over with shovels and help. I love my friends and they turned out in grand fashion! Trench was dug and the run up in a day. Only thing left for me over the next few days was burying the cinder blocks placed in the trench on top of the buried wire and fashion a door to the coop. None of this is in anyway exciting, but never the less I am proud of my efforts, grateful to my friends, and to this day, years later, the run is still as solid as fort Knox. The photo is from summer 2016 and everything is still good to go. Anyone wanting the incredibly dull minutia of the details of its construction is welcome to ask in the comments.

The Chicks Arrive!

The chicks arrive!

After a winter of finding sources for Australorp chicks, purchasing associated supplies, and setting up a safe place in the house for chicks too little to be in a coop, we placed an order with a local farm for the darling little fluff balls: five hens and one roo. March of 2014 saw the coop delivered and we had obtained an old playpen to raise the babies in a spare room. Heat lamp, medicated chick feed, and appropriate treats. I also purchased the materials to build the run myself. Commercially available runs are more costly and not as secure as I would like, even in suburban NJ there are plenty of predators and pests. Raccoons, foxes, birds of prey, stray cats, an occasional stray dog, and possibly even coyote can all potentially invade, so I wanted security.

On April 4^th of 2014 the local farm contacted us to let us know that the babies had arrived. They were born on April 2^nd. My wife and I asked them to keep them safe until we could pick them up on the 6^th. We wanted to pick them up early and have a full day to get them safely home and acclimated to the playpen where they would be staying for four to six weeks until they were old enough to move out to the coop.

 

Now, the first mistake is naming your livestock. Bear in mind that we don’t intend to eat them, so we figured we’d name them anyway … and … like most first time chicken owners, they ended up with what some would call ‘old lady names’ Please don’t take offence if you are NOT an old lady, but happen to have one of these names! Our new flock as follows:
Mildred
Myrtle
Matilda
Hortense
Hildegard
Hermione
Ermatrude

And … the ‘hero’ of this blog … Coq Au Vin… our rooster. Don’t forget, this is a blog (mostly) about our rooster! All of the chickens have unique personalities and have developed additional nick names which you will read an out in excruciating detail ad nauseam as the blog progresses, but for the sake of brevity, I’ll often refer to our lil roo as ‘Coq Au’ or ‘Coco’ for short.

Introduction.

Introduction:

THIS post is NOT about my douche bag rooster particularly, but I feel there should be some back ground about the agonizing process my wife and I went through in deciding to get chickens, what to do and educate ourselves on how to do it.

Early in 2013 my wife and decided that we should like to raise and keep a few chickens. This is a strange notion considering we live on a meager third of an acre in suburban NJ, but what the heck, I’m not terribly bright, my family had raised a few chickens when I was a child, and we were willing to try.

First, the research. We agonized over WHY we want to keep chickens. The major reason we decided was the ‘joy’ of it. Next, we decided that we are interested in food safety and independence and raising our own chickens would ensure at least SOMETHING we were eating was mostly in our control. Additionally, we felt a desire to do something that directly contributes to the health and welfare of our family … beyond a little light gardening.

Next, we had to decide what we were going to raise chickens FOR. We like eggs, we like chicken, and decided raising our own would be healthier for ourselves and more humane than the factory style poultry farming that supplies most of the fare at our local market. So … after much consideration, we decided that we would want a ‘dual purpose’ type of bird, but mostly for the eggs. We didn’t intend to eat the chickens, but when you go into a venture like this … however small … you have to be prepared for the eventuality that you may have to dispatch one or more of your livestock for one reason or another.

Next, being in a suburban area of NJ (a heavily regulated state in regards to all aspects of life and trying to live it!) we needed to determine if it was legal. Now, there are people in the neighborhood with chickens, even a rooster or two, so figured we’d be on safe ground. Never the less, we checked with local ordinances and sure enough! Our town is one of the few that not only allows you to keep chickens, but even roosters. Naturally, they must be kept in satisfactory conditions that do not create a health risk for the neighbors or cruel conditions for the birds themselves. In the clear legally, project could go forward!

Then, it was an agonizing and well researched decision as to what KIND of chickens we wanted (yes, chickens come in different ‘kinds’ … or rather … breeds). So, NJ is a temperate part of the country where high summer can see occasional heat spells of 100+ degrees for a few days and the dead of winter can sometimes have lows below zero for a few days. We needed an all weather bird. Also, since we were raising them ‘mostly’ for eggs, but with the possibility for ‘meat’ we wanted a dual purpose bird. After much discussion, some fighting, a little rending of garments and gnashing of teeth, we settled on Black Australorps. You can look that up … they are amazing birds and we’ve ended up happy with that decision!  Also, we settled on a maximum of a dozen birds. We feel that is the top amount we could handle with our resources and small yard. With that in mind, we settled on starting with six so that there would be room to grow if we enjoyed the experience.

A rooster or no rooster? After much reading, we decided that although chickens are happy enough without a rooster, other people’s experience helped us to decide that having a rooster helps the flock feel more secure, lay better, and, of course, possibly produce new chicks.

Then came the coop and the run. Again we researched the size, style, what it needs to look like, which way the windows should face, etc. I am an experienced woodworker and still have a few tools, so I also planned on building the coop. after pricing out materials and drawing up plans, I realized that buying one would cost about the same and save me a lot of knuckle busting. So, in August of 2013 I bought a coop on special at the local 4H fair to be delivered in early spring of 2014 when the weather broke. This was now going to go forward.