God.Īnd speaking of smells, let's just talk about the giant elephant in the room here. I thought about just wiping it off (I am a homesteader, after all) but thought the smell to be far too offensive to fellow congregants. Like leaving a giant chicken poo smear on the back of my maxi dress. I realized this the morning we got in the car for church, only to realize that a car door had been left open and a Buff Oprington thought it her obligation to apparently mark her territory on my seat in some sort of sacred chicken ritual reserved only for the finest of circumstances. No surface is sacred from their defecation. …and speaking of the porch, that leads me to a very, very significant second point: 2. In fact, until I fenced in my chickens, I didn't realize just how much had to be fenced to keep them off and away: raspberries, strawberries, lambs ear, the flower garden, both vegetable gardens, the ivy, the trumphet vine, the porch… Or that beautiful climbing rose that survived the attack by an escaped lamb, only to fall victim to the poultry gangsters. Don't judge me).īut lest you think chickens only save themselves for broccoli, let me assure you, they are a promiscuous bunch and willingly give themselves to any available scratching-up.
And I wept (It was before Pocket's death… it seemed big at the time. But broccoli starts that I've been patiently and lovingly growing since the middle of February, gently transplanted out at the ideal time, mulched to perfection, only to have a rogue chicken scratch them up in a matter of minutes with their big stupid feet? Fu-get-about-it. Sometimes this is good, sure, like those three weeks a year when I don't have anything planted in it. See how she's turning away from me? The snob. But, as these things go, that is not the scenario we're in.įree ranging sounds pretty, doesn't it? Do you picture chickens grazing amongst the clover, in the sunshine – green meadow, blue sky- with rainbows shooting out of their wing tips? Ya.
#Covered chicken run free#
In that scenario, I probably wouldn't hate free range chickens. I lived in a hut with no surrounding neighbors, cars, roads, gardens, animals, or landscaping. In said pasture, there was nothing but native grasses, and perhaps one bovine.
Let's just say that I lived out in the middle of a seventy three acre pasture.
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