No running around with its head cut off

Bruce is cutting the neck of a rooster while Denali is holding it still so the blood can drain into the can below. The birds squirmed for one to two minutes after the cut. One of them crowed and moved for what seemed like three minutes.

I took a turn cutting a head off two birds I have raised since June. I thanked them for their lives, took a deep breath and cut as fast and hard as I could with the sharpest knife.
I'll remember that moment of killing to eat for a long time. I'm usually so far removed from the source of my food.

Butchering in a group shared the workload and expertise. It was easier to do it together and learn by doing. Now I know how. I could do it in my backyard. We had a feast at the end of the day. The meat was tougher than I anticipated. Denali shared organic potatoes, beets, carrots and cucumbers from her garden and her homemade bread. It was delicious. I provided homemade peach and apple crisp with fruit from a nearby orchard. YUM!

Denali said chickens bred for meat are more tender. I'll cook the birds I brought home in a crock pot all day to soften them up.

To cut the neck of those chickens, I connected to a deep primal instinct to kill another living creature for survival. My birds had a much more humane life than chickens raised in commercial feeding operations. Someone else does my killing for me when I buy chicken in a store. It was a bit messy, but not as bloody as I anticipated.

Tomorrow-- de-feathering and gutting them.

Not one to follow the crowd

I'm not usually the one to be "the first" to do anything, unless it's counter to everyone else.

I had a baby and stayed home while most of my peers were dressing for success, climbing the career ladder and avoiding pregnancy and marriage.

When everyone else got perms in the 1980s, I kept my prairie grass -- straight and flaxen.

Now I have chickens and it seems it's the thing to do. Shocking! My urban friends out-and-out laugh at the idea and think I'm a bit odd. I used to think people who kept chickens were a bit odd.

People aware of the cutting edge, nod carefully and say, "A lot of people I know are getting chickens."

Chickens require regular attention -- less than keeping children, men and a dog, but more than fish, a car or growing a garden. (In the photo above, Denali, Mike & Bruce are defeathering a newly killed rooster during "processing."

One of my roosters, Houdini, takes after me -- avant-garde. When Bob opened up the crate to take him to get beheaded at butchering party at Denali's yesterday, he took off into the woods and disappeared. Houdini refused to follow the crowd and go docilely to his death.

Houdini survived the night probably by roosting high lup in a tree to avoid predators, and showed up at her hen house this morning.

"We tried chasing him with the dog and couldn't catch him. We're leaving for Maine in a few minutes," Denali said.

"Why doesn't he fly over the fence?" I said. Her run has no containment over the top.

"I don't know, Susan," Denali said patiently. "He wants to get in and is crowing like mad."

"Oh well. I don't want to come over. It's only a rooster. We were going to kill him anyway. I have other worries -- my car won't start. Just let him be. Would you put out some water for him?" I hung up.

Bob said, "We could go over and try and catch him."

"Emphasis on 'try.' There's no guarantee. And it will take at least an hour. He's not worth it," I said. I'm not one to put animals at the top of my priority list.

Denali left a message a few minutes later. "We caught him and he's in our pen. Call me later."

Roger allowed Denali and Bruce to catch Houdini. So much for independent thinking. Now what do I do with him? It's too much trouble to butcher just one rooster.

I guess I'll keep him for a few weeks, when I get around to picking him up, if he hasn't escaped from Denali's run in the meantime. Houdini likes to fly over the fence. Chickens are not the brightest birds.

Houdini was contrite when Bob opened the box to let him out into our run, the opposite of his dash to freedom the day before. In less than a minute, he re-established himself in the pecking order by going after Big Red.

Barnyard meanderings

The chickens gobble up slightly imperfect tomatoes, corn cobs with shreds of corn, and the rinds of cantaloupes and watermelons. They bolt into the compost area when they see me coming to the fence carrying the compost bucket.

If you're going to have chickens, it's worthwhile to have a few tomato plants because the chickens love tomatoes. They provide a recycling repository for the slightly imperfect tomatoes. I love f being part of a cycle where my waste is recycled a few steps away from where it was grown. They make weeding fun because weeds are like salad to them.

While the birds relish weeds, they rejected a bag of stale Trader Joe's whole grain hemp corn chips. Shocking. Maybe they needed some salsa.

Bob observed the two marans picking on Charlie Brown, the lowly bird at the bottom of the pecking order. Not much we can do, but let nature take its course.

When I brought a load of compost this morning, I tossed some goodies towards Charlie Brown, but her self-esteem is so low, she didn't think she was worthy of pecking away at an ear of corn.

Denali says to keep the birds busy so they don't pick on each other. I'm still learning what chores to give them. Maybe if they had more to do they'd leave Charlie Brown alone.

Silly little amusing chicken antics

We have composted for a long time. It has always been a chore.

Suddenly, with eager hens with access to the compost, I look forward to taking out the compost.

They dive right into it, especially watermelon rinds, leftover peach pulp and even weeds. They see me coming with the bucket and come over in earnest.

I didn't realize that I would enjoy watching bird behavior or get attached to them. I'm in this for eggs. I'm not a great animal lover. However, these birds are winning me over.

We have collected four eggs now, so a whole new attitude has hatched. Literally.

However, there are other perks to compensate for the regular care. Just watching them is relaxing and amusing. Red Star -- the odd ball -- has a lonely life as the outsider. Red Star is older, bigger and more experienced.

She has become a little aggressive, but she also teaches the younger six birds a thing or two. They had no idea what to do with the compost until Red Star came along. And she knows how and where to lay eggs -- which is more than I can say for the rest of the flock. They harass her -- maybe out of jealousy.

According to the web, Red Star chickens produce the most number of eggs for the least feed, and in "this economy," that's important. She produces, that's all I care about.

Then there's Houdini. She likes high places and was fond of escaping until I put netting over the pen. Today she perched on the fence between the chicken yard and the compost. It gives her a sense of accomplishment, I think.

I went to my friend Denali's Chalet Poulet -- it's really the Taj Ma Chicken. It's HUGE, about twice as big as my coop. She spent a small fortune on it and built it sturdier and neater than ours. Ours is "just a chicken coop.

The best part of her setup is that the birds can be viewed from her deck, with a glass of iced tea, with your feet up, a restful and entertaining treat. Nature is like a dose of Valium. Daydreaming about butchering counteracts that.

Denali wants to raise birds for meat so she's game to learn to slaughter them. I'm willing. Being self-sufficient is appealing and part of the back-to-nature movement that I've been swept up in. There are instructional videos online on how to slaughter. Someone else is doing it for me at the slaughterhouse and CAFOs -- commercial animal feeding operations. They don't even have the courtesy to consider themselves a "farm." On a farm, people look at the animals, appreciate them and name them -- even though they will be sacrificed for food.

Hurray for sacrifice.

Two eggs, sunny side up

My chicken adventure started in January with an idea, followed by months of thinking, planning and talking.

Next came the building phase. After the mental phase of talking myself in and out of keeping chickens, the building phase was the toughest. We built a shed with doors and pseudo-windows. It took time and money.

Then the coop was vacant for a few months until my hen friend Lori gave me some pullets -- birds a few months old -- that were not laying yet. They settled in, but I don't expect any eggs from them until October or November.

Then Lori dropped off Big Red -- a solitary hen a few months older than the rest of the gang -- in exchange for a rooster. My other six birds have been together since birth and bonded. Big Red is often on the outside of their clique. She's a bit of a bully. Big Red has been lonely and isolated.

Allegedly, Big Red is a "layer." Three weeks have passed and I was beginning to wonder if Big Red was transgendered or mistaken as a rooster. Hens are very susceptible to stress. It was taking her a while to find her place in the pecking order.

I placed golf balls in the laying nests as a hint. I checked the nests every few days for eggs. My hen friend Denali reported, "I got my first eggs!" I was green with envy. All I wanted was a few eggs for months of effort.

Last night, I grudgingly checked the nests again, with low expectations. It was a chore. Nest one had a golf ball and some chicken shit in it. Nest two, the same. Nest three, WAIT! Amid a little chicken shit were TWO BROWN EGGS!

I gathered them up, took them into the kitchen and called an emergency family meeting in the kitchen before dinner.

"Did either of you lay these two eggs?" I held them up victoriously to my husband and daughter Kristen. "Did either of you place these in the hen house to make my day?"

We whooped with celebration. Bob put on the frying pan and we ate them immediately.

Those two eggs were ALMOST worth the six-month wait! They were delicious. Today I gave the birds fresh water with a little more joy, a bit less resentment, and a great deal more anticipation and appreciation.

I love getting eggs from nests in my backyard!

The chickens have come before the egg

We've been on the chicken adventure for a few weeks now.

Many of my chicken illiterate friends (a group I have left!) have asked during the barnyard tour, "Do you have any eggs yet?"

"No," is the answer because our birds are pullets (one must learn chicken lingo). Pullets are only 4 months old and won't start laying until they're 6 months old. So that is a disappointment.

However, I might be getting a few eggs a week from a chicken trade. Chicken keepers are like soccer moms -- we share information and children and rides. It's good to know each other.

"I would like the dark rooster back for breeding," said Lori, the chicken mama who sold me my 7 original birds, including three roosters, to be butchered when they're mature at 6 months.

I can't remember what breed my chickens are, and don't really care, I agreed to the trade. Hens are imminently more valuable than roosters, who are loud and pretty much useless except to occasionally breed, for amusement (they like to dominate!) and to butcher and eat. Yes I intend to learn to butcher chickens. I already know how to eat them.

Lori violated chicken etiquette. She dropped off the hen into the yard while we weren't home, a major faux pas. New birds, particularly older birds, should be sneaked into the hen house at night, when allegedly, none of the other birds will notice.

Big Red, as we have named her, has been ostracized. She spent the first night roosting in Bob's lumber house because she was afraid to go into the hen house. By the time I got out after dark to check on them and shut the door, I couldn't find her. Bob found her in the morning. The next night, she joined the flock inside, but still separate.

I feel a little sorry for her. Having been a dash of salt in a bowl of pepper during high school, I feel compassionate for lonely creatures, who are excluded for whatever reason.

Big Red has not laid a single egg in her debut week. I need to put some golf balls in the egg-laying nests to give her the hint. Hopefully she will settle in and produce. Chickens are very susceptible to stress.

Maybe I'll play her some nice elevator music to relax. I just want a few fresh eggs for the several hundred dollar investment, to date! In this case, the chickens come before the egg. Gimme a few eggs!

It's shocking how many chicken allusions are in the English language, even though we don't raise chickens any more. I'm curious -- give me a few in the comment section.

The chickens have arrived - finally!

My chicken odyssey finally reached a climax: I GOT 8 CHICKENS on Sunday! My friend Lora had ordered 15 chickens and been delivered 30. She gave me eight that she didn't want that are three months old. The four hens will lay eggs in three months.

After talking, reading and researching, and chickening out more than once about getting chickens, I finally decided against getting chicks because of the work involved and fear that some would die on my watch because of negligence.

Some have already died. The night before I picked up the chickens, a fisher cat attacked the cage they were staying in and killed about eight. It was a bloodbath. The chickens stuck their neck outside of the wire cage and the fisher cat chomped it off for sport, according to my friend Ruth, on whose farm the chicks were living.

So I didn't get as many chicks as I anticipated. I'm going to get some more. One of my eight died unexpectedly, inexplicably. I'm not sure of the breeds of my birds, and don't really care. I can tell the roosters. They are amusing, assertive and aggressive. I guess the Y chromosome influences behavior in the animal kingdom. "And the hens love it," someone said.

Our dog Gonzo has taken quite an interest in the birds. She wants to sniff and nip them. That's her watching me with interest on the first day we adopted them .I made it clear to her that they belong to me and she is banished from the chicken coop and yard.

So much has happened since I got fed up waiting and took a hiatus from blogging. We had to build the coop and get permission from the town and decide when and how to get what kind of chickens.

In January when I embarked on this chicken adventure, I didn't expect it to take until July to get them. The un-named guy in Groton said, "Chickens are easier than children and dogs." He was right. They are very low maintenance. The hardest part about the whole advent was building the coop.

I'll catch you up on the coop details later. Gotta go feed the birds now.