The Politics of the Coop

Snookie (left) and Ugly Betty forage off of the kitchen

Most people think of eggs and chickens as commodities, packaged neatly in cartons or plastic and enjoyed as omelettes or with fried with a crispy coating. We think of them as pets. Last year, my husband, who has been evolving from lawyer to gentleman farmer, decided to get chickens. At first, my reaction was, "Great. One more thing to take care of."  Don't get me wrong - I love animals. But with my life as crazy at it is with two cats, a demanding dog, and even more demanding kids, I wasn't sure I wanted to take on one more responsibility. He ignored me and went ahead and built a large coop and run (bigger than many people's backyards), took a class on how to care for them, and then got himself some chickens. On the weekends, he spends hours watching them. The funny thing is that now I do, too.

We live next to open space and being new to this chicken business, weren't aware that the fox that had moved into the neighborhood could climb trees and get into their run. So we lost a couple of chickens the first few months (we cut down the branches, which solved that problem). That left us with Snookie, and she was all alone. We started bringing her in the house so she would have company. She adopted us right away, jumping all over us, roosting on our shoulders, pecking at Chloe, our German Shepherd. She even traveled with us once to our cabin where she found a shelf in the closet to roost at night.  Once, when we all decided to go for a walk, she came running after us, determined to tag along. The only problem was the poop - chickens aren't so easy to toilet train. It turns out that you can buy chicken diapers, but we thought that Snookie would probably be happier if we got her her own flock. After my husband found a few chickens that needed a home, Snookie had no interest in hanging out with her human family anymore. She was too busy showing the new ones around - she was now the queen hen, clucking up a storm, telling everyone which nesting box to sleep in, where the good worms were, when to go back to the coop at dusk. She was like a tour guide and drill sergeant, and it was fascinating to watch her.

Eventually, Snookie and Ugly Betty started laying eggs. They would kick the others out of the coop and take turns laying an egg in the same nesting box. One would always keep the other company during this ritual, which happened 4 to 5 times per week. Then they would go back to pecking for worms. One day about a month ago, I heard some loud clucking and ran out to find Ugly Betty collapsed on the ground. She had been attacked by something, most likely a raptor. Her neck was slightly injured, but she was still alive. For the next couple of weeks while she was recovering from the trauma, the other chickens, especially Snookie, rallied around her. They all protected her in the corner nest box so she would feel safe and would surround her when she eventually ventured outdoors again. They not only protect their young as is well established; they watch out for each other. Ugly Betty has since recovered fully, but hasn't gone back to laying eggs.

A few days ago, my husband brought home three new chickens from a lady that had to get rid of them because of neighbors' complaints about noise (I don't get it - I love the sound of their clucking). Immediately, the pecking order needed to be established. Snookie went at it with the new golden chicken named Linda; it was immediately clear that Linda was the feisty leader of the new threesome. Although Snookie backed off due to Linda's size, Snookie didn't give up. The next day, we heard some extremely loud clucking and ran out thinking that it was another predator. No, it was just Snookie at the door of the coop announcing to the world that she had laid an egg. Thirty minutes later, we heard another chicken clucking loudly. This time, we found Linda at the coop door shouting to the world that she, too, had laid an egg. Clearly, in the chicken world, the ability to lay is a status symbol. The competition was on to establish who would rule the roost.

I'm not sure what chickens do with their eggs. Brooding has been largely bred out of them, so most of the time, they lay and then just go back to their other business. Without a rooster, the eggs are not fertile, so they don't turn into chicks. Without human intervention, I wonder about their ability to continue to propagate. I should probably read a chicken book to find out.

At one time, man's relationship to the chicken was so symbiotic that their behavior crept into our language. "Pecking order," "cooped up" , "rule the roost," "brooding," "flew the coop," "don't count your chickens until they hatch," "don't be a chicken'" -- I would argue with only the last one. Chickens are indeed vulnerable, but utterly dignified.

When you get a chance to watch these fun creatures, the idea of thousands of chickens with their beaks cut off crammed in little cages piled on top of each other, suffering, becomes even more disgusting. Actually, embarrassing. Doesn't show a lot of dignity for the human race. Unfortunately, chicken consumption continues to increase as people erroneously believe that it's a healthier, lower-cholesterol alternative to red meat. I'm going to be taking up this issue in a light-hearted, non-threatening way in a future episode of Miyoko's Kitchen  where Snookie will co-star.

If you're a vegan like me, you probably won't have a lot of use for any eggs that get laid. In fact, I'm hoping you'll check out my earlier blog on my Omega 3-packed egg-free meringue made from flaxseeds. Here's an animoto of the process - gives you a 15 second idea of the steps involved. In the meantime, I continue to wonder about the politics of my feathered friends: will Snookie continue to rule? Or will Linda manage to oust her? I better go find out.