Chicken Shenanigans: Natural Free Range Chickens and Backyard Mayhem

Have you ever noticed how many sayings come from bird life?

Don’t get your feathers ruffled

Don’t count your eggs before they hatch

Dirty bird

Silly bird

Can you read my chicken scratch?

All cooped up

I mean, clearly, chickens have had a chokehold on culture longer than we realize.

Anyway—today I learned something new: the angry version of the egg song? That full-throated chicken chorus? That’s not just a post-lay celebration—it’s a defense mechanism. It’s how the girls alert each other—and me—to danger.

Right before a Zoom call this morning, I heard a full-blown cacophony erupt outside my office. I looked out the window and, lo and behold, there it was—a snow owl. Perched. Ready to pounce. But this owl picked the wrong gang. My girls have bulked up and gotten bold. It wasn’t going to be an easy meal.

That is the fourth time free-range that they’ve alerted me to predators. And honestly, without our rooster? They’d be toast. And to be real— we do lose a few chickens a year to predators.

The Rooster can’t defend that well against predators but he watches them as the ladies dust-bathe and snack along the sunny hillside. Occasionally, he’ll join them for a joyful romp, but mostly he’s on duty. He guards, calls, postures. He’s a full-time bodyguard in feathers. And in this free range setup, he matters. A lot. And if I listen for his distress, I can usually chase off predators before they harm the flock.

Free Range chickens—especially with a rooster—are not for the faint of heart. I’ve learned more than I ever thought I needed to know— from taking on the role of a midwife, now 3 times to my Superstar Hen, Frog, to managing 2 separate flocks to dispatching Roosters when they have dedicated themselves to a duel to the death. And trust me when that happens, and you don’t interrupt it, they will kill each other. Taking care of a free range flock isn’t the same as raising a few backyard hens in a secure coop and run. But it’s one of the best crash courses I’ve had in land management, animal behavior, and how to hustle around your own property.

Let me put it this way: I’ve run around every darn square inch of our nearly four acres wrangling chickens.

And it’s not just any land. It’s a steep, north-facing mountainside that transitions into a wetland—the headwaters before everything drains into the LaPlatte River and flows into the Champlain Valley. It’s re-wild. It’s healing. It’s hidden—no mailbox, no sign, just a tucked-away path through tall trees and deep silence.

The chickens have become part of this environment in a way I never expected. They’ve added rhythm and life to my outdoor spaces. I don’t have a lawn. I’ve created garden beds, winding trails, and a park-like feel that connects woods, water, and wildlife. While most folks clear-cut for turf, I say this with love:

Parks, not lawns, people.

So yes, chickens are chaos. But they’ve also taught me patience, awareness, and how to be a better steward of the land. Shenanigans and all.