What's that Cluck? My Neighbors Have Chickens?!?

There are many memories that make us sigh when people ask "Don't you miss California?"  One of those things we, as Winnetkans, can still have - but Glencoe and Wilmette were fighting for just last year.  That's the experience of raising backyard chickens.  

Go ahead, get that groan out.  Too much has been written about this topic.  It's become ever-so trendy and over glamorized.  True, it has its many benefits.  Even the most ecologically uncaring person appreciates that healthy hens provide free world-class fertilizer; tasty, Omega-3 rich omelette starters; and help keep weeds down & bugs away without chemicals.   Best of all, chickens will eliminate virtually all wet waste you toss from the kitchen. Instead of dumping left-overs or vegetable butt-ends in to the landfill, toss it out to the ravenous birds in the back. Perhaps because they are so closely linked to dinosaurs*, our carnivorous feathered friends would also scarf up steak scraps, hot dogs, and, yes, even chicken. (Cannibalism - even amongst lesser species - is still disturbing...and not exactly the veg-only way earthy farm folk want to raise their fowl.)  

We had just 3 birds, but almost everyday was an Easter-worthy hunt.  The ladies had their favorite laying spots, but the kids quickly learned that there were also surprise, secret locations.  (Were they laying in those hiding spots hoping to brood? Were they perpetually disheartened when we snatched up their ovum every morning?)  The eggs themselves were often a curious find.  If the girls had a particularly proten-rich meal the day before, the yolks were creamier, sunnier...and more frequently "twinsies."  If they'd not had much calcium, the egg would have a thin, albumin-only "shell" -- so soft you could puncture it with a fingernail.

What few discuss re: the ownership of these animals is the guaranteed HILARITY and occasional CALAMITY that comes with chicken ranching. 

Here's how it started for us.  We strolled in to a feed & grain shop in January and tried to order up "um, yeah, just a couple of girl chickens...ready to go."  Snickers from the left & harrumphs from the right.  We were informed that that request was much like asking your ob/gyn if you could skip the L&D and newborn phases and just get a well-behaved, fully potty-trained 3 year old, please.  There aren't chicken short-cuts for suburban neophytes!  So we sheepishly signed up on the chick wait list (no, not that kind) and promised to came back around springtime. 

When we came back, our fuzzy, big-eyed chicks were scooped and chucked in to the same brown sandwich bag and sold to us for $1.99 per.  Like human babies, chicks are lucky to be sooooo g-darn cute. Because for many months they give you nothing in return and require a lot of warmth and care and worry.   If they weren't peepingly adorable, I would have been tempted to "liberate" them.  Finally, they grew too big for their bin, and Longneck, Cutey and Nemo moved in to their new home.  We dubbed it "La Poulet Chalet."

Longneck quickly established herself as resident jerk.  Nemo had a wing that was malformed.  But she was just a smidgin heftier than Cutey, so Cutey bore the brunt of Longneck's brutal pecking assaults.  Bold chickens are exactly the opposite of what humans call "chicken."  We eventually suspected that Cutey had developed brain damage from the head trauma.  Cutey was the most attractive, but not at all smart or quick on her feet - once again proving the adage "Nature has a budget."  

One morning, Longneck took out her aggressions on me.  Standing at the sink, I felt -- yes FELT -- a villainous presence, a pair of beady eyes, a stalker.   When I saw Longneck standing in my kitchen with a cock-sure pose, I screamed like I was being axe-murdered.  And I continued to scream for about another 15 minutes while alternatingly chasing the bird and letting the bird chase me.   The idea of touching was making me retch, but she was kicking up dust, feathers, dirt and poo in every room in the house.  Just when I thought I had the old bird cornered, she zipped a hard left, leapt three stairs and disappeared in to our master bedroom.  So, so, so, gross...but now it was personal.   She wasn't on our bed (phew!), wasn't in the closet (where it could have hid for days), where in the beep was she?!?!?   The instant I saw her sitting in our toilet bowl, I lost it.  I grabbed a beach towel, flung it over her head and wrangled her kicking & pecking out the door.  

Another funny, but really only after you're a few years away from it, moment: People assume chickens can't fly and are too unevolved to work in pairs.  That is usually true. Yet we were having people over for lovely summer BBQ on our back porch. Nemo started distracting and pester the guests by peaking at their toes and Longneck rose Phoenix-like and landed in the middle of the table, snatched a pork chop, knocked over a glass of wine and flew (a whopping 2 feet) away.  Our flustered guests tried to brush it off...but when feathers were found in side-dishes, it was game over socially speaking.  

When we realized we were ultimately Chicago bound, we lamented the loss of the ladies.  They had fed us, entertained us, harassed us, nauseated us for years.  And now we were just going to leave them to the foxes, neighborhood dogs and coyotes? I had a half-cooked thought - what about listing them on  Craigslist -- under "free" and under "farm equipment"?   My truncated post read:  "FREE CHICKENS!  Three egg-laying young adults.  Need to go to a good home asap."   The first call came in under a minute and 1/2.  A nearly breathless, but urgent voice came through:  "I'm in my truck and I have cages in the back.  I know exactly where you live.  I have chickens.  I love chickens.  But no, no, no - I won't eat your chickens!  I just want your chickens.  I want you go know that I will love your chickens."  He arrived less than five minutes later, swooped them up, thanked us profusely and was gone in under three.  We never really got to say a proper goodbye! :-( When I checked my phone later, I had 45 calls within the hour -- all begging for that popular poultry. So I guess there actually is a yuppy short-cut - check Craigslist repeatedly and have your truck ready to roll. 

It's almost springtime, so maybe, just maybe, we'll try it again here. But I have two questions/discussion prompts:

1.  North Shore backyard chickeners, what do you do with them in the winter?   I assume a heated coop....but how much does that cost per month?   

2.  Wilmette, elsewhere, what are you going to do to fight for your right to pooooooooooultry???

* See dinosaur vs. chicken pics