What's your story?

[cerealrock78]

Hey, everyone, I decided to ask every one how they got thier chickens and what happend, whats best, what the enviorment looks, or any thing like that. Here is my story:

I was at school hanging around and just before recess, Malachy and I (my other chicken friend) talked and he pulled out a picture of his baby chicks. I was gasping about how crazy it was for someone to own chickens, but although it was cute... So very VERY cute. And as how I was urgent, I got that sturck in my head. "lets own chickens!" I told my dad. He did 10 - 10 that exactly. I knew he would'nt. But I showed him how despretly Ioved animals. After lots of arguments, he would finally say yes. I told my mom, and I knew we would'nt be able to afford a chicken coop. So I told my mom, "I be responsible until they become adults! Then we'll give em' away." She thought about it, but she didn't HATE large birds who couldn't fly much. And chicks were cute and fuzzy too. Next day we went and picked up the chicks, an they were SO cute. as time passed by, watching them grow was fun, but we'd have to let them go eventually. Momsaw how depressed I was, so she asked my neighbor, PJ, who is handyman, to build a chicken coop.
He said it would be ok. He started to build it instantly, and in 2 weeks, we bought it for cheap, 80 dollars. But it was very SMALL, thats why. And one day, when we went to pick up feed at bothell feed center (they sell baby choocks!) baby chickes were still lying around, looking for a home. I just asked dad to have 2 more to raise. He said ok, since we already have chickens. As they all grew up, My dad bought a chicken run one day from home depot, And everything was perfect until today, when they were growing large with such a small coop. So my dad will ask PJ for another, more grand chicken coop but what lies ahead? Stay tuned.

 

[nanaluvsgps]

We used to live in residential but 4 years ago we moved to one acre. We have lts of Guineapigs (don't breed, they are rescues) and the best food for them is at the produce store. one day they had a lot of pullets at the front for sale and we went online bought a macallum chook tractor then went strait back to the produce store when the tractor arrived. lol its a pretty boring story

 

[Magic Birdie]

I don't have chickens, but if you want a story, here's one:

It was a memoir I wrote for school

I was getting into the car excitedly. I slammed the door and impatiently waited for my dad to get on after me. He sluggishly crawled in, and turned the engine on. The car pulled out of the driveway. I couldn’t sit still, I was so impatient. I had waited almost two years for this one moment.
After the seemingly endless drive to the post office was finally over, I burst out of the car, talking nonstop about how great this was and how excited I was. Still talking as fast as I can, I ran into the post office. My dad slowly stomped in after me. The post office staff handed me a small white cardboard box with holes in it. On the sides were the words, “”Live Animals, Handle with Care”. I excitedly took it, can’t waiting to open it. Inside, were the cheeping of baby chicks.
And then my alarm woke me.
I sat up, realizing that it was just a dream.
But it was real.
Or at least it was going to be real. It was all going to happen. The glowing red light of the brooder set up in my room on this warm June morning reassured me of that. That nothing could go wrong this time.
It all started when I went to a friends’ house. She had three chicks, a few weeks old, old enough to live outside. The black one, the pullet, was greyish black with a few downy light grey feathers sticking out. The pale golden cockerels were a yellow-orange speckled. She didn’t have a coop, and just let their chicks roam around outside, and they were fed rice (Which both are obviously not too healthy for them). We spent the next half an hour playing with them, mostly chasing after them, until a branch poked my eye.
I told my mom that I wanted chickens too, and she said yes!
In a year, that is.
So during that year, I researched a ton.
The next time I saw my friend, her chicks died (Probably from not being treated properly), and she had new ones. It was at her birthday party.
The chicks were a downy golden color (Probably Buff Orpingtons), and ran around her yard like miniature dinosaurs. The whole time at her birthday party, I was holding my favorite chick of the five, the “”runt””. I held her outside, inside, playing with her dog, eating pizza, and getting pooped on.
I begged her for that chick, I said that I would give her $20 for the chick, when chicks at the feed store or a hatchery are around two dollars, depending on the breed. “No” was the only answer I got. I went back to her backyard a few hours later, and looked for “my” chick under the bushes. She recognized me, and came running to me across the grass that was almost as tall as she was.
My friend was so lucky.
Later, when they died, she said she made chicken soup with them. How she could joke about that, I did not know.
So while I put my eye on a hatchery’s availability, I researched breeds and calculated egg production and coop making with the other.
Finally, after months of waiting, I could order chicks at my favorite hatchery. My mom was in Philadelphia, and my dad said no. I waited. My mom was in Rochester, said no, and went back to Philadelphia. My dad said no. My mom was again in Philadelphia, and my dad said no. It went on like that for at least three months.
Finally, when my mom was back from Philadelphia, she very painfully agreed. We ordered a peeping package of 12 one day old chicks from My Pet Chicken hatchery. The chicks would arrive in 113 days.
And so the wait began.
I ordered the chicks on February 28th, 2011. I still remember that cold, exciting night when my mom sat at the computer, staring at the screen, while I showed her the breeds I wanted to get like it was yesterday. After a year and three months of careful research and difficult decisions, I could finally stop worrying about availability, staring at the computer, and wondering when my mom would finally agree.
The day of June 20th, 2011 will always be remembered. Why? It would have been the day I got my chickies. The day that was always on my mind. The only one that was circled on my calendar.
Every day, my mind was filled with images of fluffy cuteness. Of picking up our peeping package at the post office. I couldn’t get the thought of picking up our imaginary chicks out of my mind. It was frozen into my head. And just like my dream, when I was just about to open the small, peeping box, everything freezes. I pushed my mind to go on, but it wouldn’t. Not until we would get the chickies.
The night before the big day, I set up the brooder, where the chicks would live in my room. It took an hour, but finally, I was done. I turned the heat lamp on for the night to test it, like you’re supposed to. Sure it was hot, but its glowing red light was beautiful. I could just imagine the fuzzy little feathered dinosaurs crowding around the heat lamp, looking so alive, so curious and fragile. The brooder looked dark, drab, and empty without them. I imagined how they would fall asleep headfirst on my hand, or how they would flutter around cheeping in the brooder.
The next morning, I gave my dad strict instructions on what to do if the post office calls.
At school, all I could think of was the chickies. And what’s wrong with that when you’ve waited 565 days for them? I annoyed everyone by being chicken crazy.
When I got back from school, the post office still hadn’t called. I figured that they would later.
I was wrong. They never did. They never will.
My mom, who spends a lot of time in Philadelphia, decided to move there. This not only meant that we would have to move to a horrible, birdless place, it also meant that I wouldn’t get something I’ve waited a year, three months, and 113 days with fluffy cuteness in my head.
The chickies
My mom made me take the brooder down, and with it, went my hopes of ever getting a chicken. Depression took the place of vanished hope.
Now, I’ll do the math. One year hanging onto the promise, three months begging my parents, 113 miserable but exciting days spent waiting for a package that would never arrive. Add the months begging and the time spent waiting, and it’s 95% of a year. Add the first year, and it’s 195% of a year. Add this year, and it’s 295%. What if it were you wanting something so bad, waiting nearly three years just to be told you weren’t going to get it?
So what have I learned from this? Don’t trust parents. My mom doesn’t do 91% of what she said she would, and my dad is just hopeless. Don’t expect anything good to happen. You’ll only be disappointed.