The Escape Artists

The first time it happened, I did not think too much about it. A knock on the door in the wee hours of the morning by the police…but by the third time I was combing the vast fields surrounding my house looking for two very naughty ponies in the freezing cold and total darkness, I was ready to admit I have a problem.

While I am snuggled up warmly in my bed, my ponies have decided before the snow comes, they will use the middle of night to travel the countryside in quest of any last remaining grass patches on which they can nibble. They do not escape during the day. Ah no for even they know that is far too obvious, and they are unlikely to graze unseen.  They wait until the coldest, darkest parts of the night, when the roads are empty and even the dairy farmers are asleep.

The first morning, when I was awakened by an officer asking if I was missing any miniature horses, their escape path was clear. I looked out the window and saw the fence was broken. After retrieving them from the neighbor’s yard, who of course had generously provided them with apples, bread and other goodies to keep them from moving on, I fixed their pen and went to work feeling like that was an unfortunate one-time event. I was just happy the ponies were safe and sound, and I was not arrested for animal neglect, neighbor’s Christmas decoration vandalism or any other such travesty that could befall the owner of rogue ponies.

The next night it was closer to 2am when the knock on the door awoke me from sleep. This time an older gentleman was inquiring if I was missing any ponies, as he just saw two galloping down the cornfield alongside my house. I woke up Bridget, threw on some clothes and headed out after them. However, now ten minutes after their last sighting, they had disappeared.

Thinking of the fabulous junk food breakfast they had been served the day before, we headed to the neighbor’s house hoping to find them. Alas, no ponies. An hour later, frozen, tired and crabby, we spotted them grazing in a tall patch of grass not far off the road. Walking them home, sputtering under my breath, we arrive back at their pen to find it perfectly intact, gate closed. How did they get out?

Turns out in talking with other pony owners, ponies, if so inclined, will carefully step through the tape on a paddock, without disturbing the tape. The first time, they were sloppy and left obvious evidence, but now it appeared they mastered the art of a graceful escape.

I would like to say I have solved this problem, but just last night, the dogs started barking and all suspicions were confirmed, as a large dark objects were spotted galloping down the field. Sure enough… no ponies…no broken fence...and another late night of tracking my naughty boys through the dark pastures that surround my house. Covered with burs, and happily munching the last bits of greenery that still survive in the fields, my ponies looked at me, bundled in my coat, flashing my light in their eyes, as much as to say “Come on, we know this will all be gone soon…we just can’t resist the last taste of autumn.”  I never thought I would say this, and those who know me will be in shock, but I truly, from the bottom of my heart, hope the snow comes soon! 

Why Pampered Poultry?

The most common question I am asked is “Do chickens really wear diapers?” When I respond yes, the corresponding question is “Why?”

The obvious answer is to keep chicken poop off your clothes, carpet and car. However, the real answer is much more subtle.

When my daughter and I set out to design and sell chicken diapers, it was born not so much out of a need to literally pamper our poultry, but rather to share in the growing movement to bring chickens from an agriculture sphere and into the suburban/urban realm. We wanted to be part of the “Backyard Chicken” movement.

Our experience with chickens has led us down a path of small scale animal husbandry, adding pigs, goats, geese and emu’s to our collection of animals. Yet, chickens are still the most fascinating and practical members of our animal family.

All other farm additions have required significant investment in housing, fencing, land and time. On the other hand, chickens are affordable to purchase, house and feed, while requiring little time.

Yet, despite their economy, they offer fresh eggs, endless entertainment and built-in composting. Each bird has a distinct personality and each breed offers unique characteristics and colors, making them beautiful and intriguing yard ornaments, as well as practical food providers.

 As interest in chickens and fresh eggs continues to gain momentum, more and more towns and cities are allowing for a small number of hens to grace even a well-manicured suburban setting. These small zoning changes are in part because people are treating their small flocks, not as an agriculture endeavor, but rather an extension of their family and feel they should have the same rights as the family dog or cat.

That being the case, a chicken that is sick or the center of attention at a play date, is sure to make it inside the home on occasion.  In such events, certain needs must be addressed…hence the diapers.

Our chicken diapers are practical (or as practical as such an item can be) but more importantly they are a material example of the way in which chickens are entering into the suburban backyard. In a world where most people are completely removed from their food source, often feeling desperately out of touch with natural food production, the chicken offers a practicable connection to both, without evoking a huge commitment of either time or money.

Each morning as you feed the chickens the table scraps from the night before, and collect a couple of eggs for breakfast, if even for a small moment one can experience the joy of knowing your food. It is a small but meaningful way to stop the cycle of commercial food production, and it offers romantic appeal…a small window into the peace and satisfaction of an agrarian life.

Our chicken diapers are our way of embracing and celebrating what we believe is a powerful and important movement, Backyard Chickens. We want to be part of a society that values our food and how it is produced and cares about the lives of all animals. We want to be part of a world where chickens are pampered!

Eggs of Many Colors

It is not hard to find supporters for farm fresh eggs. Everyone loves the idea their eggs are coming from happy healthy chickens, who are lovingly cared for by a farmer.  The dark yolks and clean taste that only a truly fresh egg can provide is seen by many as reason enough to source local fresh eggs.

Today, as I was washing the eggs I had collected from my eclectic free range hens, I was reminded of another powerful reason to support backyard poultry flocks, using all and wasting none.

All of a sudden, when the birds are yours, every egg they produce becomes a gift to cherish and marvel. The demand for perfect, identical eggs disintegrates, as you feel the satisfaction of collecting what your hens have provided for you and your family to eat.

In commercial production, eggs are graded. Only a perfect egg, inside and out, can be sold as Grade AA. Eggs are also sized. Only the eggs that make the “grade” are found in the supermarket.

Any eggs that do not meet the strict requirements for egg grading are often used for non-food applications, thus technically not wasted, but, that only works well in huge commercial operations where it makes sense to source a volume buyer of the “wasted” eggs. For small egg producers this is not practicable.

Many local farmers’ markets have a requirement that eggs must be graded in order to sell. This sounds good, right? We all want to know that what we are buying is good, safe and will work in our baking recipes. However, the unintended consequence to this is it discourages flock diversity and results in waste, often making it impossible for a small scale chicken operation to exist.

 I cannot sell most of my eggs at one of these restricted markets. Even though my family and neighbors love and enjoy the eggs my chickens produce, I could never have enough of one size and grade to practically sell dozens each week.

Case in point, this morning, my eggs were blue, green, chocolate and white and all varied in size. The eggs from my bantam hens were small, the egg from my old hen was wrinkly, and the egg from my Copper Maran was 1/3 larger than the one she laid yesterday. One had some freckle spots and one was long and narrow compared to another one laid by the same breed.

Now you might be quietly thinking to yourself, wow, she has reject chickens, but that is just not true! Each hen in her own right is a beautiful representation of her breed. However, some are 2 or 3 years old and Misty, my girl who lays wrinkly eggs 2 or 3 times a week, is over 7. Some lay perfect eggs 5 days a week and one day, it just comes out a bit funky. This is the reality of backyard chickens.

Those perfectly sized eggs, in completely uniform color are the result of young birds, with a close generic makeup and still represent only a fraction of what was originally laid in the factory.  Those birds that lay perfect eggs for a year are killed to make room for a new batch. Even though they might lay strong for another couple of years, a factory can’t suffer the loss of productivity as the hens go through their annual molt. Plus, when you consider these factories are housing millions of birds, the loss in productivity of even 10 or 20 eggs a years is significant and ensures a death sentence for all hens over 12 months in age.

Perfect uniform eggs might be what people want, and what the government demands, but that is not what happens on a healthy, bio-genetically diverse farm.

I, for one, love my mixed basket. Each egg tastes delicious in my breakfast or in my custard for dessert.  I smile when I crack open Misty’s egg, although wrinkled and ugly on the outside, inside it has a bright yolk that reminds me of how she is enjoying her later years, foraging for a variety of delicacies in my garden and the nearby fields, living her life fully, and contently, while still providing, albeit a bit less, for my family.