Chickens don't really have a lot of bad habits. They fly into a panic at the slightest provocation, but only momentarily. And they can be indiscriminate about where they poop, but the same can be said about dogs, once they are outside. Litter boxes are not an option.
All in all, though, our three hens are well-behaved. My only complaint? Sometimes, I wish they didn't have such a slavish devotion to the rising sun. Dawn breaks, and "the girls" wake up. Instantly. Fully. Completely. They want out. Now. And they want their breakfast. Immediately.
I headed out the back door at 5:40 this morning, yet even that was too late for Snow, Nellie and Hope. As soon as I stepped off the deck en route tot the garage, where their feed is stored, I could hear the hens squawking, even though their coop is at the far back end of our good-sized lot. When I reached the coop moments later, with food and water bowls in hand, all three hens were stationed at the east-side window, bellyaching to beat the band and pecking feverishly at the window in a noisy, desperate bid to get out.
Unlike roosters, hens don't crow, of course. But at 5:40 in the morning, a squawking hen is loud. She is shrill. And she definitely is disturbing the peace. Multiply that by three.
It's a good thing we have tolerant neighbors. And that the cacophany come to an abrupt end as soon as I open the coop door.
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