By B.J. Roche

We have had a small flock of chickens for several years now, and if I had known that the hobby would become so popular, I would have figured out a way to make money off it.

Instead I started a blog called The Chicken Whisperer and  wrote funny stories about raising chickens—not a good way to make money at anything.

Ah well. After reading stories like this, you may be thinking: Hmm. Should I get a few chickens? My answer: if you’ve got the room, yes.

Yes!

Chickens are not that much work, provide you with fresh eggs, and are a lot of fun to have around. After six months with a flock you will find yourself living in a chicken universe—instead of bird watching, you’ll be chicken watching.

There are lots of resources to get you started, both online, and in print. My favorite book is Living with Chickens, by Vermont author Jay Rossier, and Hen and the Art of Chicken Maintenance, which is not a how-to, but a kind of why-to book. 

Also, check out Storey Publishing.

You can buy meat birds or egg birds: the meat birds grow fatter and faster. When you look at the Murray McMurray catalogue, you’ll want to try the exotic birds, with funny poofy plumage, different colored feathers and patterns. But when you’re starting out, simple and sturdy is best.

If you are looking for those blue eggs that Martha Stewart is so fond of, you want Araucanas, South American birds who are very gentle and friendly.

Also, if you’re giving those blue eggs away as gifts, be sure to let the recipients know that they taste exactly the same as the brown eggs. I’ve been surprised at how many people won’t eat the blue-shelled eggs because they think they’ll taste different. It’s the Green Eggs and Ham Syndrome.

Also, we like Barred Rocks, with their simple, Currier-and-Ives appearance and matronly bearing. We have two, and their purr remind me for some reason of Marge Simpson. And Buff Orpingtons, who are like golden retrievers with chicken legs, are handsome birds as well.

If you’re going to eat them, don’t name them. If you do name them, have a little dignity! I once heard from a woman who named her rooster Rumsfeld, which I thought was perfect.

If you don't live in the country, check your zoning by-laws. Many places have regulations regarding the keeping of lifestock.

You can go crazy with coops but again, simple is best.

Beware the bonus bird: the hatchery may send you a “bonus bird” with every six you buy. These are often roosters.

And you may even find some of the answers to life’s big questions by sitting in your backyard with a vodka tonic and watching your girls root around the yard.

Because by then, they won’t be just chickens.

They will be your peeps.

You’ll notice that the henhouse is the ultimate matriarchy.  And within that culture there’s a pecking order that can sometimes go to extremes. (Just like your office!)

You will start to understand their language.

From there it’s the slippery slope to: Everything I Know About Life I Learned From Watching My Chickens. If that happens, it’s time to slap yourself and take a bus trip down to New York City and look at crazy-assed shoes in Bergdorf's or something.

Because this means you have gone native on planet poultry and become: the woman who loves her chickens too much.

For which the only consolation is this: you are not a woman who loves her ferrets too much.