Just last week a neighbor asked me how many chickens I had. I laughed when I told her ten because at this point, more than five months in to the adventure, I didn't expect to have that many. It's called "chicken math" and it signifies the addictiveness of keeping backyard chickens.
If for example, you have a local law that limits the amount of poultry you may keep, when you count up your chickens you don't count the chicks because they aren't really "chickens" yet; and you don't count the roosters because since they don't lay eggs, they aren't technically chickens; and you don't count your favorite ones because they aren't really livestock, they're "pets." So when you go to the store to buy two new chickens, you come home with six, because even though you technically have ten chickens already, you've only counted four of them as falling under the poultry ordinances. Sixteen equals ten.
Another aspect of chicken math, the one I applied when I started, is that you always get/hatch/buy more than you need because you're bound to lose some to disease, accidents, predators, etc. I originally wanted six in the flock, so I ended up accumulating ten. After five months, I'd forgotten the reason I got so many. Today I was reminded.
Belle, a White Brahma, and Bilbo, a Plymouth Barred Rock, met the neighbor's Husky puppy this morning. I'll not provide any of the gruesome details but it was sad. Another, Buttercup, must have just escaped, her limp the evidence. All of the chickens living in my backyard are pets, no less than dogs, cats, or horses; each one with their own distincitve personality and with exception of two, we raised each one from their first week of life. I can't even estimate the amount of sweat and money we expended in these birds, counting the coop, the food, the medicine, the treats, the daily chores of cleaning up, and I don't know what else. And it's frustrating too, both Belle and Bilbo were literally ready to lay thier first eggs any day.
Anyway, this morning was a remedial lesson about "chicken math."
If for example, you have a local law that limits the amount of poultry you may keep, when you count up your chickens you don't count the chicks because they aren't really "chickens" yet; and you don't count the roosters because since they don't lay eggs, they aren't technically chickens; and you don't count your favorite ones because they aren't really livestock, they're "pets." So when you go to the store to buy two new chickens, you come home with six, because even though you technically have ten chickens already, you've only counted four of them as falling under the poultry ordinances. Sixteen equals ten.
Another aspect of chicken math, the one I applied when I started, is that you always get/hatch/buy more than you need because you're bound to lose some to disease, accidents, predators, etc. I originally wanted six in the flock, so I ended up accumulating ten. After five months, I'd forgotten the reason I got so many. Today I was reminded.
Belle, a White Brahma, and Bilbo, a Plymouth Barred Rock, met the neighbor's Husky puppy this morning. I'll not provide any of the gruesome details but it was sad. Another, Buttercup, must have just escaped, her limp the evidence. All of the chickens living in my backyard are pets, no less than dogs, cats, or horses; each one with their own distincitve personality and with exception of two, we raised each one from their first week of life. I can't even estimate the amount of sweat and money we expended in these birds, counting the coop, the food, the medicine, the treats, the daily chores of cleaning up, and I don't know what else. And it's frustrating too, both Belle and Bilbo were literally ready to lay thier first eggs any day.
Anyway, this morning was a remedial lesson about "chicken math."
2 comments:
+JMJ+
I'm so sorry to hear about the chickens. =(
:(
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