So precious huddled up together.
About two months ago, I got a book called The Backyard Homestead. It had everything you could ever want or need with regards to vegetable and herb gardening. I was wanting to go one step further and have a really good yield this year. There was also fruit growing and preserving, as well as recipes, which I always love. I bought this book for me, but quickly my husband was spending more and more time with the book. I could see him imagining what this would look like here or there. I also glanced over his shoulder on more than one occasion to find him studying how to grow and brew your own beer. Whatever the inspiration, he's totally into it.
One section I kept returning to after seeing several news articles floating around on the subject was the part about raising chickens. I would never even consider this except for the fact that their cheap to feed, will give you eggs, can give you meat if you aren't totally in love with the animal, and their poo is one of the best composting materials and fertilizers known to man.
Every spring, a kindergarten teacher colleague hatches chicken eggs to let the children awe in the wonder of life. After a week or two she takes them to the local feed and seed, and they send them off to live at the farm. They have an agreement that has worked seamlessly for the past few years. I told her about my interest in keeping a coop, and she offered to let me take home as many as I wanted. I live in a city that doesn't have any regulations regarding chickens, so unlike other cities, roosters are allowed. However, I think they could be a noisy nuisance. I was extremely motivated to get 4 hens. I looked all over the internet and found nothing that I was qualified to do or had experience enough to tell what was subtly happening with the chicks' feathers.
In talking with another colleague, she's heard an old breeders' secret. When you pick them up behind the wings (sorta like picking up puppies and kittens by the neck) and they fight you and flap and kick, it's a rooster. If they instead go limp when you pick them up this way, they are hens. We'll see if it worked. There were definitely a few I picked up that went absolutely nuts. Let's hope I was right. I'll be keeping my fingers and toes crossed here.