Adopting 3 Isa Brown pullets on 23 March, 2012 sort of changed my life. I wanted chickens to take me a bit further along the self-sufficiency path; I craved those fresh, organic eggs; I saw a lot of potential for a ready supply of natural, nitrogen-rich, chicken poo fertiliser; I even thought chickens might be kind of sweet to have hanging around the garden. They’ve ticked every box and brought me lots of laughter and affection to boot. My first 3 girls, Bronwyn, Isabel and Rosie (in pecking order) were funny, bright, attentive and followed me around since I was their designated head-chook.
Then we moved to the farm. The girls couldn’t free range any more because foxes appear on the property day and night. We thought a dog might help the situation but that turned out to be the most horrible experience.
But time marches on and we’ve got a new dog and new chickens. All of our chickens have been “rescued” in 1 form or another. I don’t think we’ll buy pullets again, but you never know. We have 1 rooster (roosters create all kinds of problems but if you adopt 3 siblings and one is a boy, what do you do?) and 5 hens which should do us for a while. They are sweet but not the darlings my first 3 were. Partly because they aren’t my first but mainly because they don’t free range. If they can’t climb on the back porch and follow me in the garden, it’s a lot harder to get attached. That said, I have noticed that the 3 Isa Browns we adopted from the egg farm as they were about to go to the dog food factory are a lot sweeter than the 3 Rhode Island Reds we adopted from people who were moving to a town house and couldn’t take them. I would have thought the Isa Browns would have been harder to like as they had spent 3 years on acreage surrounded by chickens with very little human interaction. I think Isa Browns simply have a fantastic nature. They may not be the most beautiful of chooks but it’s hard to imagine a better disposition.
When I post about my chickens (which is surprisingly often) I’ll categorise the posts as “chickens” to make it easier for other chicken mad people to find them.
Warning, if you spend too much time around chooks, you just might go chicken mad yourself.