I bought myself three little chicks – a black Australorp called Linda, a Platinum Sussex called Nicky and a black and white stripy Plymouth Rock, I named Leesa.
I’d thought about it for ages – I don’t quite have the commitment to get a dog, what with the walking them every day, running them around and feeding them and everything. I work twelve hour days and nights – up at 5am and return at about 8pm.
Or wake up at 5pm, eat tea and return home about 8am.
I don’t feel like strapping on the collar and taking a dog for a brisk walk, after a long day – and to do otherwise would be a bit cruel.
You see, if I got a dog – I’d get a proper dog. I’m not a fan of those stout nosed, pug faced things with a wicked underbite and cocaine cough. Forever snorting and dribbling because their screwed up inbred, malformed snout is physically incapable of supplying enough oxygen to the poor bugger’s respiratory system.
And I certainly don’t want a Staffy.
For some reason this is the fashion dog these days. Everybody has a staffy.
Staffy’s are like the .22 rifle of dogs.
People seem to want something that’s a little bit dangerous, but not so much so that it’s likely to kill someone if mishandled.
“What do you think of my Staffy? He looks a bit like a Pit Bull but he probably won’t eat your baby”
Nor do I want a beast who weighs more than I do and can swallow an un-husked coconut and not blink.
I see dogs as outdoor animals – and I certainly don’t want to share my bed with one.
So that also rules out some of the smaller, more fragile types.
I like working dogs. Things like your Kelpies, Koolies, Border Collies and even Jack Russell’s.
But they’re all full of energy and running – and I’m not – so that’d be a bad fit.
I suppose I could get a basset hound or something – but it’s no use having two lazy bastards sitting around the house doing nothing.
So I went with chickens.
I find their antics quite amusing and their interactions entertaining.
You can feed them for a few days at a time, and they are let in and out by a special timer clock that opens and closes at whatever time you choose to set them free.
So they are self sufficient for the most part. They also clean up all the bugs and bities in the backyard, which is a bonus.
Be warned though – they do shit.
They shit on the grass, they shit out their arse,
They shit on the chair, they shit while you stare,
The shit on the table, they shit where they’re able,
They shit in their nest, they shit in the west,
They shit on the veranda, they’d shit on a panda
They shit in their bed, they shit when they’re fed
They shit on the lawn, they shit in their corn,
They shit in a tree, they shit more than me,
They shit in their nest – it’s what they do best!
They shit in their tucker, they shit like a Fucker
They shit on the dirt, they shit with a squirt,
They shit in great lumps, they love taking dumps!
So if it’s shitting machine you seek – arm yourself with a few chickens my friend!
It’s been interesting to watch the individual personalities develop.
Nicky, the big platinum Sussex is a beautiful specimen who has always been confident in herself, with no concern for what her friends are up to. She doesn’t like internal gossip and avoids politics altogether. She is also dumb as a post! Six months later and she still does fifty-seven laps of the small coop trying to find her way out every morning – completely bamboozled as to how the others managed to escape into the yard!
Linda, the black Australorp likes to gossip and must know everyone’s business. She is not particularly aggressive – but if one of the others finds a tasty morsel, she’ll run full tilt across the yard to claim a share, or at the very least, see firsthand what she’s missing out on.
From a young age, Leesa the Plymouth Rock was the most dominant. She kept the others in check and led the pack around. It was only after about five months that Leesa became aggressive and super dominant and started crowing and eyeballing me when I entered the yard.
With big, thick legs and proud, puffed out breast, head held high and ‘fuck you’ attitude – it became clear that Leesa was, in fact, a rooster!
The constant crowing and hogging of all the food became too much – so one of us had to go.
Shortly thereafter, Leesa the Rooster decided to leave Jacobs Well for greener pastures – he hitched are ride in a cardboard box with a visitor, ‘Bill’ from Gumtree.
‘Bill’ seemed fairly au fait with the troublesome mannerisms of rampant roosters – so I’m not sure if he has a lovely green paddock full of rowdy bachelor roosters getting drunk together, smoking cigarettes, playing snooker and trying to pick up the local chicks, or if Leesa became someone’s halal meal shortly after hitching a ride?
Leesa the rooster was soon after replaced by Leesa the Light Sussex – a bird of similar age and size, She is a mostly white hen, with an exotic shot of black hair and tail feathers.
I was warned about introducing a single new chicken member to an established flock. They were bound to pick on the newcomer and give her a hard time for invading their space. But I figured mine were relatively placid and the yard was big enough for them to retire to a neutral corner, should the need arise.
I let the all new and improved Leesa sleep in the coop, separated from the others the first night. They all looked at each other with curiosity, through the wire – but there appeared to be no malicious intent from any party. So I let them all loose to share the yard the next day.
With the rooster gone, it turned out that Linda was the new leader of the pack – even though she is somewhat smaller in stature than her cohorts. So Linda and Nicky chased Leesa around the yard for a bit – they never seemed to get too close and really didn’t appear too committed to confrontation. I suspect they realised it was expected of them, so they put in a token effort to show they owned this patch.
For her part, Leesa didn’t seem too concerned either – she did run away when the others came chasing but never appeared to consider them a genuine threat.
Leesa had just come from a chicken farm where she shared a cage with about twenty assorted birds of various species – and she had thrived. I doubt she regarded her two new yard mates as dangerous. She did however pay them the respect of running away when they chased.
After about two weeks the chasing ceased altogether and they all flock together for the most part – though Nicky occasionally puts on a show by shirtfronting Leesa, who stands her ground while they eyeball each other like two boxers at a weigh-in. Neither genuinely want to have a go – it’s just a bit of neck-flaring bravado, probably to impress Linda, the boss.
I suspect Leesa would kick Nicky’s arse if it ever came to fisticuffs. She hunts other birds out of the yard – and this she does with intent (and it’s obvious). Nicky will run at a feeding lorikeet with intimidation on her mind – but the parrot need only bob his head and Nicky steps back, saying ‘Yeah – I’ll let ya eat this time. But next time – look out, you stupid Hook-Beaked Paint Palette!’
For the first fortnight in her new home, Leesa couldn’t work out the auto-door on the coop and would not put herself to bed before lockout. She preferred to roost on the headrest of the antique chaise lounge sitting on the back veranda. This was not acceptable for a number of reasons – including her own safety and not least of all, her propensity to shit at frequent intervals, even in her sleep! So the Old Man would brave the cold every night, pick her up and stuff Leesa under his arm and then physically tuck her into her nesting box for the evening, all safe and sound.
Occasionally I sit out the back with a beer and watch their silly chicken living. As soon as the back doors slide open, the chickens come a-running. At first I thought it was in hope of a treat – but they follow you around the yard gossiping among themselves – or perhaps they’re giving me an update on the week’s proceedings, I’m not sure. They are very friendly and seem to enjoy human company – and they don’t bark.
Eggs will be a bonus, and to date they’ve only laid one between the three of them. But in the coming months I’m expecting to be inundated with fresh, free range chicken eggs and I anticipate my lawn will launch into a thick, luscious green bumper crop as soon as the summer sun hits that growing layer of nutrient packed chicken shit!
Chicks….they’re a funny breed….