Roy Exum
I’m pleased the Chattanooga City Council is youthful and progressive and includes some free thinkers. I think that is good that those who the voters approved earlier this year are eager to “move forward into a dazzling future.” But I also believe the majority of those who represent the city’s nine districts don’t know squat about chickens and need to rethink a bit before they welcome them to downtown.
I fear perception is about to outrun reality as the council prepares for a Tuesday vote to allow coops --far different from the one in Egypt – inside the city limits. So as one who has had limited but learning experiences with “yard birds,” there are three valid reasons our city representatives should think carefully because what you see on re-runs of “The Waltons” is not what will really happen.
When I was a small child my family on both sides had chickens. Some were on a huge farm near Dayton while some were on a sprawling plantation in central Mississippi. I’ve gathered eggs, scattered crackled corn, shoveled droppings and made sure the water trays were full in the summertime. Trust me, when all the smoke clears from this vision of a little cottage with a white picket fence, you are 10 times better buying a dozen eggs for a dollar at the store than smelling that coop after a rain.
The first problem with chickens in a city is that the neighbors will hardly enjoy them nearly as much as you may think. All those hens squawking about the same time is worse than a burglar alarm going off in the night. And if they bring around a rooster, I’ll warn you beforehand that those things get really excited about announcing the day at the earliest crack of dawn. Not once or twice, either. They really crow about it in a voice that carries.
Yes, I understand one provision is to get every neighbor’s permission but that’s the most volatile thing I ever heard. If you give permission, can you take it back? If you don’t, will your once-friendly neighbor not let your children play in his yard? Trust me, kids never play anywhere near a chicken coop, not even in remote African villages. Ask any gizzard – the animal is not known for its hygiene.
The second problem you have is that there is a decided difference in a country dog and a city dog. Dogs that are raised from a pup in the country learn early they aren’t to touch a hen for fear of death. That’s the truth. Even then some country dogs have to be taught the hard way not to suck eggs, but woe be unto a dog that harms a chicken because life is very different in the country than in the city. Country dogs think chickens are stupid and are a nuisance but know to leave them alone.
But a city dog, and Chattanooga has a lot of those already, is altogether different – they look at a chicken and turn into a gladiator. They go nuts over such a strange sight and, in some instances, will work through the feathers and the beak for a midnight treat. Add other animals, like the wildlife that will be attracted inside the city limits just like the people are attracted who enjoy the nightlife, and if one is not careful there will be no life left in the coop. Coyotes, for example, love chickens and can be real crafty about it.
Seriously, if a prospective chicken owner from the city gets right down to the nitty-gritty with a longtime chicken owner from the country, the very first thing our urban farmer will learn is that a chicken coop isn’t made to keep the chickens inside. Instead it is fortified to keep Brer Fox from weaseling his way in from outside. You think a coyote or fox is a problem – wait until the pit bull and Rottweiler two blocks over find out chickens are in the neighborhood. Those dogs will jump the fence for the fun to be had! I’m telling you, reality ain’t the cotton candy some believe will fall from the sky.
The third and last thing you need to know is that chickens are, in fact, dirty birds. I love fried chicken and just about any other way you can serve the succulent meat but a couple of weeks ago a trailer truck taking a load of hens to be processed was idling beside my car at a red light on South Broad Street. It was at least two weeks before I could even order my next chicken sandwich.
Oh, I know – people can hardly wait to build these fancy coops in zany colors with lacy Victorian accents but these people have never seen chickens when they roost. Nothing’s wrong with a roosting chicken except what it does while it sleeps. I’m not saying it can’t be done but I’ve never heard of house-breaking a chicken. And you get eight or 10 together, I don’t care what the color or pedigree, and they’ll make a fine mess. It’s a chickens’ nature.
When I was bad in my youngest years I’d get the choice of a spanking or cleaning the chicken coop and, brother, I’d get hit every time. And just wait until some little kid names a chicken “Sally;” you’ve never experienced the trauma that occurs when somebody at the dinner table stops in the middle of chewing food and blurts, “Are we eating Sally?”
Further, have you ever tried to herd a flock when a kid forgets to latch the gate? You can’t whistle up a chicken like you can a dog. And when they flee, they will go in exactly as many directions as there were in the pen. I’ve been there, I’m telling you. Out in the country it doesn’t matter as much but when Mrs. Johnson calls from two doors down to tell you that “YOUR chicken” vandalized her porch sofa, things will indeed get a bit testy.
Face it, while I wish we could be all things to all people, you can’t mix some things from the country with some things from the city. You can’t raise a horse on a half-acre of pasture – some people try but it doesn’t work. I don’t believe you can raise a free-range hen in St. Elmo or Brainerd, either. I think some people may try it but, candidly, I don’t think it will be for very long. It is more trouble than its worth.
I’ll admit there are some places, especially in recently-annexed areas of the city, that would work but if the moon and the stars aren’t aligned just so, running a chicken coop gets to be a hassle in a hurry. Just when you get inside the kitchen to show your love for the six really-fresh eggs you have gathered, your love is looking at her rugs you just walked across in your really-fresh “fowl” shoes.
I’m telling you, I learned invaluable lessons about chicken coops as a kid. And one of them was that city folk, if the truth be told, know very little about poultry or its science. I can go anywhere in all of America and find somebody who will agree the city of Chattanooga doesn’t need to be in the chicken business because – in reality – a backyard coop ain’t nothing but trouble that is fixing to happen.
royexum@aol.com