Chickens, in my opinion, fall into the (sadly) underappreciated category of animals. At first glance, sure, they just seem like silly, scatty bundles of feathers without much substance – bar their obvious use as a roast or to facilitate your perfectly soft and fluffy scrambled eggs on buttery toast. However! They’re so, so much more. Firstly, the huge number of breeds provide such variety – ranging from the standard Rhode Island Red which is most commonly used to provide eggs, to the adorable Bantam which is a fluffy miniature chicken which lays small but delicious eggs. Whilst discussing breeds I have to mention the Frizzles which are just too delightful for words, but I’ll try to do them justice. Essentially, I think their appearance encapsulates what I like to imagine would be going on inside a chicken’s head. Pure chaos but displayed in such a fancy way, to make this chaos appear planned and as if the chicken is rather affronted that we would insinuate its existence is pure chaos.
Over the years I’ve kept many different colours of Bantams, silky soft ‘lavenders’ (greys), honey toned buffs, jet black hens with purple and green iridescence and creamy white hens, soft as a cloud. All of which of course had the trademark feathered legs and feet, giving them a regal look, as if they had dressed in their best pantaloons. I bred from these wonderful hens, hatching many beautiful, tiny bantams chicks which always grew up far too quickly, going from scurrying around peeping and chirping to flying (albeit clumsily) on their tiny wings over the sides of the run where we kept them with their mothers. These little balls of fluff would often be found by my parents in bedrooms, on sofas and in pockets as my sister and I refused to be parted from them. For a while I also firmly believed I would run a chicken circus; training for this involved me walking around with my hen balanced on my head, which she graciously complied with. I also had the lofty aspiration of training them to fly on command but maybe unsurprisingly that presented as too much of a challenge….
To contrast with my tiny feathered friends, my sister kept Cochins, essentially giant Bantams, which were constant sources of amusement. These huge birds strutted around with such self-importance and character yet were totally hen-pecked (literally and figuratively) by the tiny Bantams. They also were very clumsy due to their great stature which, unsurprisingly, was not very helpful when pottering around in the garden over twigs and branches, leading to constant tripping up.
A few years ago, our very old hens started to get a little doddery and we realised we might need to start sourcing more hens or face being left hen-less. I started researching into rehoming hens rather than going for the traditionally adorable little hens I’d always had. I found a rehoming centre near my family home through the BHWT (British Hen Welfare Trust) and signed up to collect three hens. At this point I’d done a fair amount of research so understood my hens would arrive once an egg farm was clearing out their current hens and the charity would collect the hens and distribute them to new, responsible homes. I was also warned that my hens would be scared, lacking feathers, confused, unhappy and generally in a bad way – this sometimes resulting in a rather short life span once I’d rehomed them. The three hens I collected were terrified and confused by their new home once I’d brought them back. Having never seen grass, rain or other animals, they had a lot to learn in a short adjustment period… However, despite a lot of initial hesitation, they soon began to explore and learn to enjoy their new home. Watching the rather scrappy trio, who probably had enough feathers for one hen between them, find their bearings and begin to understand that this new world was good and tasty was hilarious but also sad, as obviously these hens had been forced to live, in my opinion, a completely unnatural and cruel existence. As they began to find their feet (both literally and metaphorically) they grew back their feathers and gained so much confidence that they often would pick fights with the dogs – the dogs generally always running away confused and displaced!
Whilst they did continue to flourish and fill out, these three hens died after around 3-4 years after collection due to them being worn out in their overuse as battery hens. Despite the short life-span, I really enjoyed the journey of rehoming and looking after these hens and decided to continue this, rather than shifting back to the non-battery hens of my childhood; although I’m sure I’ll be tempted by some exotic breeds in the future, even if it’s purely for the comedy value of their appearance!
allthegoodstuff.food.blog 