Why I Have Pet Chickens

The most frequent question asked about my raising three chickens is, “Well, what are you going to do with them?” People are confused—what is the purpose of having chickens? Understandably, it does seem odd in the 21^st century to have three chickens roaming the backyard for no other reason than for the pleasure of their company. When a chicken is nothing but a commodity, to be used for flesh, for eggs, could there possibly be any other purpose?

Chickens are curious, adorable, social creatures. They are inquisitive, unique, and full of life. They have unique personalities. They enjoy open space, sunshine, dust baths, good food, and lazy afternoons. They are also creatures who can experience suffering, just like the family dog or cat. And my chickens are my pet chickens, just like your dog or cat. They exist to exist, and for nothing else. I do not plan on raising them for their meat, and being a vegan, I do not even plan to use their eggs. They are my pets, and they bring me joy every day.

9 billion chickens are slaughtered every year in the United States. From hatchery to slaughterhouse, chickens are most likely one of the most abused animals on the planet. From birth, they are pumped full of antibiotics to grow fat and full of meat by the target slaughter age of 45 days old. They grow heavy so fast that they become unable to support their own weight, and are unable to walk. Chickens are crammed into tiny cages, their beaks are cut off to prevent cannibalism which is brought about by their confinement and their inability to establish a pecking order. They live a short life full of suffering–they don’t even get to see the light of day.

My three chickens have no idea how lucky they are. They are the very rare and lucky few of their species that will get to live out their lives to the fullest and die a natural death. Factory farming causes myriad damage to our environment, our health, and unneeded suffering in millions of creatures. By raising pet chickens, I am making a statement against the hegemonic culture that accepts chickens for nothing more than consumer products. By raising pet chickens, I am putting into action my belief that sentient beings like chickens have the right to live without excessive turmoil by the cruel and brutal suffering we impose on them for our selfish appetite.

So to answer your question, what am I going to do with my chickens? I am going to let them live a long and happy life.

Weott, California – I am a little bit paranoid camping under these redwood trees because on the way in I saw a large branch, the entirety being twice the size in length and girth as I, randomly fall from the sky, landing with a startling, crackling, “KA-POW!” But not paranoid enough to not want to be here. I wouldn’t leave if you paid me. These ancient redwood trees are wise old sages — if i am still enough perhaps I will hear them whisper divinities.

I am wearing my lesbian Birkenstock sandals with mismatching blue socks–tell no one. My tent is sandwiched between a cluster of young redwoods and one large redwood truck, which is toppled on its side like a coffin. It looks like it has been sitting there for a while because there are no rings to be read. The exposed trunk looks weathered and more like a knot of guts then a time line of age.

There is a slight breeze, causing a slight chill to the otherwise perfect temperature. It probably doesn’t help that my hair is soaking wet from a five minute shower I purchased with two shiny quarters.

Right now is heaven, I feel mystical and still. The trees are silently drumming words, telling fables and tales and stories. I am listening. I am aware.

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