I don't know what it is, but no one who owns chickens tells you about this part of it. The winter part. There is chicken poop everywhere in the coop. And I mean everywhere. There is no place which is sacred for the chickens. Their water. Their food. The spot where they are supposed to lay eggs. Granted, they do not poop in the far right nest where eggs are retrieved, so I guess that one is sacred, but everywhere else...
The smell is awful, but changing the water is such a pain. It has to be kept from freezing, so there is a heating element inserted into the top. But, this also welcomes a host of green life which needs to be scrubbed out. And, it is too cold to attach the hose up to the spigot, so everything has to be done right next to the house. The weather is cold so I am freezing. And, the lid has to be on just right or the water flows all the way out.
I really don't understand this club of chicken owners who have gotten together and conspired to tell everyone how great it is to have your own eggs. Brother Brown has chickens. Why shouldn't you? I have never really had a problem with store-bought and as far as I know, neither has anyone else I have ever met. In fact, I have one friend who prefers bleached eggs.
The only other possible argument is that chicken poop in the yard makes great fertilizer. But, it also makes a big mess when you track it in to your house because it is literally everywhere in the yard.
As I was going through these awful chores today, I came to the conclusion that I was going to tell my wife that when these chickens died, that's it! No more! I have had it with this disgusting mess and the smell and all that goes into having our own eggs.
But then it dawned on me. I have children who need to learn how to be tough and be responsible for things. I have a son who needs to see that his father is not afraid of going out and braving the monstrous amounts of chicken crap in the backyard. He needs to see that his father does not back down, but comes up with solutions to problems. My daughter needs to see the smile on my face as I scoop out the piles of chicken poop out of the coop and into the wheelbarrow. She needs to know that Daddy whistles while he works.
Indeed, the days of doing what we want to do and being comfortable are past us. It is a new day in which we have to build up a new generation of chicken farmers who can pick up a chicken and not be afraid as it tries to fly away and pecks at their hands or the shiny objects on their shoes. One day, my children will thank me that I taught them these things.
(Can I also say that I am thankful my Dad did not butcher chickens like my best friend's Dad did down the street growing up? I guess blood was everywhere like the movie Evil Dead. We'll just let ours die of natural causes...)
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