SENSIBLE SELF SUFFICIENCY
Owning animals such as cattle, sheep, goats, chickens and the like is a great thing, but you need the right housing … and available stock.
The expression as rare as hens’ teeth has taken on new meaning since all of the country’s point-of-lay pullets and other chickens have been bought up. Now, chickens are as rare as toilet paper as people in self isolation decide to become more self sufficient. We’re finally reverting to the Australia of my childhood, wherein most suburban households had at least a couple of chooks, their own veggie garden, a dog, several kids and an above ground pool. Back then, weekends were filled with the sounds of outdoor industry and playtime as the entire family carried out their chores and enjoyed the sunshine.
When Ol’ 76 and I headed for the mines to work a few years back, we had to permanently re-home our chickens, while the dogs had a holiday of their own with a health nut and were returned to us looking like canine aerobics instructors. We never got back to having hens because we were always popping interstate to visit family, although I had been planning to reintroduce the chook house when COVID-19 changed everything overnight and necessity reared its head. By that time, there were still pullets available at the local feed stores, but before we could commit to six new girls, we needed a chicken coop. As luck would have it, Mum and I were dropping cardboard off at the local dump when I spotted IT across the other side of the salvage yard. It was a ready-made chicken coop that had been dumped and then salvaged for sale, and it was the perfect size for our needs. Like a squirrel discovering a holy grail of nuts, I pounced on it and snapped it up for ten bucks! I told Mum, who was suitably delighted, and I then backed the trailer up to load it on. We knew it was a little too long for the 7 x 5 trailer, but we had plans for it fitting. As I was retrieving the cargo straps from the back of the car however, a well-meaning old boy who I’ll call Bob popped over to give we little ladies a helping hand.
Now Bob was an ex shearer with a heart of gold, but his idea of loading up a trailer and ours were totally at odds. I like to err on the side of caution and ensure the load is a secure and legal one; in hindsight, Bob was probably used to throwing everything on an old ute to drive from the paddock to the shearing shed with crossed fingers. Additionally, Bob had clearly never heard of Social Distancing, and my personal space meter kept going into overdrive because he was a close talker. Aside from the uncomfortable close talking issue itself, I found myself having to deal with the fear of him having Covid-19 and spraying it all over me, as well as fighting the urge to inform him a hideous forest was trying to escape from his nostrils. I had Mum sit in the car while I continued to step back every time Bob stepped forward to advise me on the best way to load the trailer. Eventually, I gave in to my inner Elbit and allowed Bob to direct the traffic, just so I could get away from him as fast as possible. The plan was to drive off, find a place to pull over on the other side of town and re-pack the trailer the way we had initially planned.
Neither Mum nor I were aware that Bob had opened the trailer tailgate (which had the numberplate on it) and anchored the chook house to the tailgate itself. Had the tailgate NOT been the removable type, we might just have survived the bumpy railway crossing, but it sadly proved itself to be the removable type and the inevitable happened. The sound effects were astonishing. First, there was an almighty crash of heavy metal falling, and as I witnessed one of the cargo straps flying through the air in the rear vision mirror, the crash morphed into a dragging crash, or perhaps a crashing drag – I’m still trying to work that out. Regardless, the lack of traffic on the road allowed me to veer to the kerb and pull up in terror. Part of me thought I’d taken out a motorcyclist; either that, or I’d run over a robot or an oven. Whatever it was, the chook house was still in the trailer, but it was hanging on by a thread. As Mum and I reached the back of the trailer, we realised the tailgate had been worked loose by the straps holding the chook house in, and it was several metres back down the road. We dealt with it in a mature fashion by grabbing it between us (yes, it was heavy) and killing ourselves laughing as we stashed it in the back of the car. At that point, a man emerged from his house as we began to unload and reload the chook house the way we wanted it. Apparently, the crash had woken him and he offered to help. With Bob in mind, we thanked him and politely refused.
After a couple of failed starts, we finally secured the chook house the way we had initially intended, refused more offers of help from a number of passing motorists and headed out of town and up into the hills for home. That particular road is a very narrow and windy one with few places to pull over, so Mum and I made a pact. If the chook house fell off, or if the trailer had another haemorrhage while we were driving, we would dump the thing on the side of the road and go home. We would never mention the chook house to another living soul, and thus it would have never existed in the first place. Thankfully, after an hour-long white knuckle ride up hill and down dale, we reached home. As I turned off the car, I physically felt the tension leave my body, although I was cursing Bob for days afterwards. Ol’ 76 was delighted with our find and took the news of our railway crossing accident in good humour. As I write this, we are currently in the process of clearing the area ready for the chook house, with a view to having it ready in a few days.
Unfortunately, all feed stores have now sold out of hens and don’t expect new stock until at least the end of next month. Naturally, this has totally freaked Elbit out, but I’m not too bothered at this point in time as there are many nearby farms still selling eggs. And when we do finally manage to find some hens for sale, I fervently hope the person who sells them to us isn’t called Bob!
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Elbit vs. COVID-19 