Keep Chickens!: Tending Small Flocks in Cities, Suburbs and Other Small Spaces Read Online Free PDF Page B

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    Unfortunately, the beauty of chickens has been eclipsed by their unglamorous and historically utilitarian role as meat and egg suppliers. A chicken’s many colors and pleasing symmetry are generally overlooked by a chicken-deprived public. Keeping small flocks of colorful hens in the garden is like celebrating a live art form, with egg dividends daily.
    Over the years, I’ve seen and read about many different breeds of chickens. While I really do love getting fresh eggs, I didn’t pick the Girls solely for their egg-laying reputations. I picked them for their looks. I like them big . The bigger, the better. Being of petite stature, I seem naturally drawn to big things: big cars, big dinners, big rooms, big coffee mugs, and, of course, big chickens. Not that I don’t appreciate the smaller bantam breeds. There’s nothing quite as elegant as a snow white Silkie or a regal, fancy-tailed Japanese, two of the few true bantam breeds. But for me, the sight of an 8-pound Australorp hen heaving her broad breasts toward me during her rendition of “running” is both impressive and amusing. See chapter 6 for more detailed information on selecting the right breed of chicken for your urban coop.
    I also love the Girls’ beautiful plumage: a dark red-orange Rhode Island Red; a jet-black Australorp whose feathers shimmer with green hues in the sunlight; and a black-and-white, herringbone-patterned Barred Plymouth Rock. Their bright colors are vivid against my thick, rarely mowed lawn and contrast nicely with the paint on their henhouse — a bright yellow and blue, with royal purple trim. When the Girls are walking slowly, as they usually do, their pleasantly plump bodies float across the lawn like big, colorful koi in a pond.
    As for stress reduction and relaxation, backyard koi ponds and bubbling fountains have nothing on a flock of urban chickens. After a stressful day at the office, nothing makes me feel better than heading out into the backyard, sitting down in a lawn chair on the patio, and watching the Girls stretch their scaly gams. Gazing blankly at my pets peacefully clucking around on the lawn takes my stress down several notches and always gets me laughing.
    The Girls love when I talk to them; during their babyhood, I spoke to them often so they’d become comfortable around me. The tiny Girls would fall asleep in my cupped hands while I spoke quietly to them. Listening to hours of my chick-happy monologues while growing up accustomed the Girls to my voice. As full-grown hens, they still enjoy my voice — sometimes too much. One evening I let the Girls out behind their coop, an area beneath my dining room window. I opened the window and started talking to them, and they happily cooed and scratched below. Except for Zsa Zsa. She suddenly jumped up at the window. She hovered briefly near the sill, flapping madly, before clumsily fluttering back down to the ground, grounded again. Perhaps she missed me and wanted to catch a glimpse. Or (more likely) she thought I was holding a fresh cob of corn and wanted to beat the other Girls to it.
    Fresh egg yolks are dark yellow or bright orange because backyard chickens (unlike their commercial cousins) eat lots of greens and vegetables that contain beta-carotene.
    While chickens are not wired for affection and loyalty in the same manner as a cat or dog, they are friendly and loving in their own way. They don’t cuddle with me on the sofa in front of the television, but the Girls do show me chicken-style love. If nothing else, I am their favorite walking food dispenser. When the Girls hear my approach — chickens have great hearing and sight, but not great senses of taste and smell — they all run to the coop door. Their clucking picks up pace as they jostle each other out of the way for a better view of me. Well, I like to think it’s me; they probably just have their eyes set on the lawn or any food goodies in my hand. When I open the coop door, they spill out