backyard
Alektorophobia keeps backyard in one place: 17 stories so far. The section currently leads with “My feathered friends are plotting something: and I'm both proud and terrified”, “A hen's cluck-tastic fight for life proves motherly fowl play is no joke”, and “A cluck-tastically heartbreaking day as we say goodbye to Lulu and Olive”. I spotted Meatball's swollen face in that frantic post the other day, and now here comes another feathered friend with a secret plot. I watched a hen use her last breath for her babies, and I'm not okay. Chickens. Everything there is to know about chickens and the fear of them. The list below is every backyard story on Alektorophobia, newest first.
My feathered friends are plotting something: and I'm both proud and terrified
I spotted Meatball's swollen face in that frantic post the other day, and now here comes another feathered friend with a secret plot. Honestly, I'm both proud and terrified. My chickens are up to something, maybe a coordinated escape, maybe a coup on the treat bucket, and I can't decide whether to applaud their cleverness or run for cover. This is the fowl life we signed up for, right? One minute you're admiring their little brains, the next you're certain they're planning your demise. It's cluck-tastic chaos, and I wouldn't trade it for anything. If you need more proof that chickens are secretly masterminds, check out "My Rooster Took a Three-Day Vacation and Came Back Clucking."
A hen's cluck-tastic fight for life proves motherly fowl play is no joke
I watched a hen use her last breath for her babies, and I'm not okay. A lost dog attacked a mother chicken and her chicks in someone's backyard. The dog bit her, she went down, and everyone assumed she was dead. But when they went to bury her, she was still breathing. They brought her inside, treated a single bite wound, gave her water, and she started making chicken noises again. She seemed to be recovering. Then her human decided she needed to see her chicks, so they brought her outside. She could barely stand, but she ran to them. She stayed one more night keeping them warm. She died the next morning. That's not weakness, that's pure, fowl-play-defying love.
A cluck-tastically heartbreaking day as we say goodbye to Lulu and Olive
Today we're mourning Lulu and Olive, two feathered friends taken far too soon by loose dogs in the backyard. Lulu was the last of our OG chickens, a puffy-cheeked sweetheart who loved being held and laid pretty pink eggs with a trumpet-like voice. And Olive? That sassy Barred Rock came to us as a bully and never gave up her top spot in the pecking order. She'd peck you in the backside if you looked away during egg collection, but she was also a fierce protector. She even won Best in Show at our 4H Fair. Our other chickens are battered but safe, thankfully, though we've got a gaping hole in our hearts.
This chicken is so clucky-cute it's almost fowl play
That chicken is so clucky-cute it's almost fowl play, and honestly, I can't decide if I want to hug it or run the other way. /u/Yolandeu has submitted a feathered friend that perfectly captures the love-hate relationship we chicken folks know all too well. It's adorable, sure, but there's something in that beady little eye that says, "I know what you did last summer." If you're struggling to tell your white hens apart, our piece on "Feathered foot clues and a wing-flapping underdog steal the show" dives into the foot-color method that saved my sanity. Because when it comes to chickens, the devil really is in the details, and the claws.
Can anyone ID this mystery hen or is she just a backyard mutt
A mystery hen shows up in the neighborhood, and nobody else steps up, so one brave soul is taking her in. Now the big question: can anyone ID this feathered wanderer, or is she just a backyard mutt? I love a good fowl identity crisis. This hen could be anything from a rare breed to a glorious mix of "who knows," and honestly, that's part of the fun. If you've ever tried to figure out what your own chickens are, you know the struggle is real. For more breed-sleuthing adventures, check out our related piece, "Feathered Friends or Fowl Play: Can You Crack This Breed Mystery." Let's help this clucky newcomer find her roots, or at least give her a name.
This yodeling rooster stole my heart: hot sidewalk and all
So this yodeling rooster strolls into a lady's backyard off the street, hot sidewalk burning his poor feet, and I'm already obsessed. He's our first boy with full spurs, but he settled right down when I caught him, total sweetheart, no fowl play there. His feet are red and irritated, so he's in quarantine with some ointment, and honestly, I'd be chickening out if he were mean, but he's just pretty and sings like a yodeler. It's a cluck-tastic rescue. Speaking of pretty boys with cameras, our piece "My Nikon and I caught my pretty boys snack-hunting today" shows another feathered friend stealing the spotlight.
Thinking of joining the backyard chicken club? Here's the cluck-tastic truth
Three hens, a coop, and a run full of fresh air sounds like the dream start to backyard chicken life, though I suspect the snakes in your neighbourhood are less "dreamy" and more "nightmarish." I respect that you're asking for advice *before* the ladies arrive, because that's exactly when you need it. The learning curve with chickens is steep, but it's also full of hilarious mishaps and surprisingly deep bonding moments. For what it's worth, my biggest piece of newbie wisdom is this: build your predator-proofing like you're preparing for a heist, because snakes are persistent little escape artists.
Chickens Got Her Good! A Backyard Poultry Adventure
You know that moment when a chicken looks at you, and you just *know* she's plotting something? That's the energy of *Chickens Got Her Good! A Backyard Poultry Adventure*. This story dives headfirst into the chaos we all secretly love, and fear. One minute you're admiring your flock, the next you're questioning your life choices as a tiny dinosaur outsmarts you. I can't get enough of that relatable panic. If you need a palate cleanser after the suspense, check out "Six fluffy chicks have hatched, egg-cellent news from our feathered friends!" for pure, unadulterated cuteness. Because honestly, sometimes we need the heart-melting moments to balance the fowl play.
Chick or Rooster? Solving the Mystery of Baby Bird Genders
Two chicks hatched back on August 3rd, and their human is already deep in the feather-typing trenches. I love the honesty here: "they all just look feather shaped lol." That's the spirit. Figuring out gender in young birds is basically poultry fortune-telling, and the purple band trick is a smart move for keeping track. I've seen plenty of folks swear by feather shapes, but honestly, sometimes a feather is just a feather. If you're in the same clueless boat, you're in good company. And for more feathery fun, our article "Chickens Got Her Good! A Backyard Poultry Adventure" captures that same chaotic energy. Good luck with those million photos, and may your chicks turn out to be exactly what you hope for!
Cluck Yeah, She's Back: Hawk Drama, Spilled Coffee, and a Heroic Hen
Well, I threw a book at a hawk today. Not my finest moment, but also, not my worst. My name's not even in the story, but I felt every second of that chaos right along with the owner. Cecil the hen made a break for the woods after the big flap, and honestly? I was holding my breath right there with the rest of the flock. The good news is that Cecil sauntered back out of the treeline and into the coop like nothing happened. Classic chicken move. The panic, the spilled coffee, the sheer fowl play of it all... and she just strolls home. New skill unlocked indeed: dramatic hen-wrangling under pressure.
This little lady's got me clucking with pure joy.
Look at that face! I mean, how can something that adorable also be the mastermind behind a full-speed backyard ambush? This little lady is pure feathery charm, and honestly, I'm here for it. There's a special kind of joy in catching them mid-fluff, looking all innocent and sweet, right before they decide to bolt sideways just to keep you on your toes. I'm completely smitten, and I bet you are too. If you're craving more of this cluck-tastic energy, be sure to peck at our piece on "Chickens Got Her Good! A Backyard Poultry Adventure" for more feathered shenanigans. For now, let's just agree that this precious puffball has officially stolen the coop.
My Rooster Vanished, and I Panic-Searched Until I Broke the Fence
There's a special kind of chaos that comes with loving chickens, and this tale? Pure, unadulterated fowl play. After hours of frantic searching, complete with a hole punched in the fence and a voice hoarse from yelling into the night, this poor soul accepted the worst. They collapsed in tears, mourning their feathered friend, only to shuffle inside and find the little escape artist snoozing in the laundry basket. In the bathroom. The audacity! It's the kind of plot twist that makes you want to scream, cry, and maybe check the dirty clothes pile yourself. Honestly, I'm surprised the rooster didn't get a one-way ticket to a soup pot.
My Hen Hatched a Veggie Omelet: Four Chicks, Zero Tomatoes
Well, here's a plot twist: this hen decided my raised garden bed was basically a five-star nursery. She planted herself on five eggs and a side of cherry tomatoes, because why not mix business with a snack? Today, four of those eggs hatched, and I'm relieved to report she's finally given up on the idea of hatching the tomatoes. Smart bird, honestly. There's a fine line between dedicated motherhood and just being extra, and she was teetering on it. It's a silly, cluck-tastic reminder that chickens really do keep us on our toes. For more feathery chaos, check out our piece on "Chickens Got Her Good!", it's right up this garden bed's alley.
Cluck-tastic Conundrum: My Feathered Friend Won't Leave the Suburbs
Well, color me cluck-tastic: you've got a rooster who's decided your cul-de-sac is his personal kingdom, HOA rules be darned. That's genuinely egg-citing, even if it's a little fowl play on the neighborhood's part. Since no one's claiming this feathered friend, you're a real champ for wanting to feed him without making a special feed store run. The good news? Your kitchen is basically a buffet for this little guy. Think leafy greens, cooked rice, oats, or even some plain yogurt for a protein kick. Just skip the avocado and anything salty. It's a quirky situation, but honestly, it sounds like the start of a backyard poultry adventure, one we'd love to hear more about.
Shovel-gate: our outdoor oasis is done, but the fowl play begins now.
Well, the outdoor area is finally done, and honestly? I'm both thrilled and mildly terrified for them. The shovel has been removed, which means the chickens have officially claimed their new kingdom, and we're just living in it. I can already picture the chaos: they'll strut around like they own the place, because, well, they do. It's a cluck-tastic victory for the flock, but let's be real, my heart's doing a little tap dance every time I think about them getting too bold out there. There's a certain madness in loving these feathered friends, and this setup is proof we've fully embraced it. If you need a good laugh about the fine line between fun and fowl play, this is where it all begins.
Chickening out of perfection is totally cluck-tastic
There's something wonderfully humbling about a garden that refuses to be perfect. I say this as someone who has spent more time apologizing to tomato plants than actually watering them. My latest reminder came in the form of a chicken who decided my freshly tilled soil was the ultimate spa treatment. You plan, you plant, you pat yourself on the back. Then the flock arrives and turns your neat little rows into their personal buffet. It's enough to make anyone want to throw in the trowel. But here's the thing: those chaotic, muddy, feather-filled moments are the ones that actually stick with you. They teach you more than any tidy harvest ever will.
When a Hen Goes Silent: A Heartbreaking Goodbye to Our Feathered Friend
Oh, my heart. I'm so sorry you had to wake up to that. It sounds like you did everything right: the heat lamp, the bedside vigil, the desperate offer of water. And still, she slipped away. That's the cruelest part, isn't it? When they're fine one minute and gone the next, no warning, no injury, just a quiet, bloody exit. The blood near her mouth is the clue I can't shake. That's not a fall. That's internal, and it's fast. Yes, she might have eaten something toxic, especially if she was the great escape artist of the backyard. But honestly, it could also be a sudden heart issue or a ruptured vessel. You're not alone in this frantic guessing game.