Mindy the Hen, Circa 1979 – photo courtesy of Fiona Campbell

Today’s Post is provided by UCP guest blogger, Fiona Campbell, an avid backyard chicken keeper living in rural Kapiti, New Zealand on five acres.  Fiona is the author and illustrator of the book, “Ruby’s Diary,” which is a chicken memoir penned from the point of view of her top hen, Ruby.  The book cleverly considers what is important in life (which is remarkably the similar whether that be a human or chicken life).  You can follow Ruby the hen’s the daily record of the Fiona’s flocks life and happenings on her blog, LINK HERE.  Fiona’s book, “Ruby’s Diary” is also available on her blog website, Ruby’s Diary Hen (LINK).  

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I have had urban chickens for nearly 40 years now. While that makes me feel real old, it is actually just a reflection of how young I was when I got my first feathered friends.

I got my first backyard chickens when I was 8 years old and my mum was sick in bed with the flu. It took a lot to fell my mother, so she must have been very crook! It was a good time to strike. “Mum,” I said, “Can I have some baby chickens?”

I lifted the brown paper bag to bed height. The paper bag was peeping and my mother realised it was a done deal. She hauled herself from her sick bed and rustled up our old fish tank, a plastic container, a pair of underpants(!) and some newspaper. Before long she had fashioned a home for my day old chicks. The plastic container situated on its side was their nest; the pair of underpants covered the nest to make it warm and non-slip; the newspaper lined the fish tank and the fish tank kept the chicks safe out in our wash house.

There was no brooder light, but it was summer so they stayed warm enough. There was no commercial chick crumb available back then, so we ground some food small enough for their tiny beaks. There was no internet and so no internet searches were available for us to research which were the best non-chick-drowning-waterers and feeders. Somehow we got that right too and lo – we had created a safe place for two very small bantam chicks of indeterminate breeding to thrive.

I was in love! In the way of children, I named these tiny chicks Mork and Mindy, forever tying them to a very defined-era of television and completely guessing at their sex.

Gum Emperor Moth – photo by Sally Philips

As children we could not have standard pets such as cats and dogs as my mother was very allergic to them. Dad also appeared to not like them at all and we 3 children seemed to know better than to nag for what we could not have. Instead we directed our energies towards the pets that we could have. Over the years we have had fish, a frog, lizards, monarch butterflies, Gum Emperor Moths, a guinea pig and rats. But now we had entered the big league of real pets. We had chickens!!

The chicks grew fast and surprisingly grew to suit their names, a wee boy and a wee girl. But despite being handled a lot, they were not very tame. I could let them out and then get them back in their coop (once they had graduated to an outdoor home life – again provided by Mum!) but they were not up for pats or cuddles. This was a bit frustrating to my 8-year-old self, but I had no idea how to solve it. Then nature intervened, the neighbour’s dog killed our young rooster, Mork, as he was trying to protect his hen. Mindy, the hen was now injured and alone. She was brought back inside our home to recover. By the time she had fully recuperated, she was a changed chicken.

Mindy became our shadow – but not in a scarred, scared, traumatize way. No, she seemed to quickly shed her horror baggage and capitalize on life’s new delights, a trait I really admire in chickens. She was now part of our human ‘flock’ and integrated with us as much as possible. This was awesome for all of us as we could really get to know her on her own terms.

Mindy was a curious, loving and very sharing creature. She rode everywhere on my shoulder, and would sunbath on the small of my mother’s back.  Mindy was sweet and playful and would sometimes fall asleep on my knee, on her back, her legs in the air.  She even allowed me the ultimate privilege of watching her push out an egg.

I still can see in my mind’s eye, her soft dark brown body feathers which were shot with green and blue and her neck feathers that sparkled bright orange in the sun. Her kind eyes matched the orange of her head and neck. She was a dream pet and I loved her very much. We all did.

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