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Few things feel more like proper smallholding life than a handful of hens scratching about the orchard. They turn vegetable peelings into eggs, give you the finest compost ingredient known to the kitchen garden, and they are far less trouble than most people fear. A little planning beforehand, though, saves a great deal of heartache.
Three or four hens will keep a couple in eggs for most of the year. A healthy hybrid lays roughly 280–300 eggs in her first season, tapering to fewer each year afterwards. Expect four to six years of life and two to three really productive laying years. In winter, shorter days and the annual moult will slow production to almost nothing, and that is entirely normal. Feed works out at around £15–£20 per hen per year if you buy pellets in bulk sacks.
Hens need somewhere dry, draught-free and predator-proof. Forget the pretty little ark you saw online unless it is genuinely big enough: allow about 30cm x 30cm of floor space per bird inside the coop, and at least 25cm of perch each. Hens roost high, so fit the perch above the nest boxes rather than level with them, or they will sleep — and muck — in the nesting material.
Ventilation matters more than warmth. A slot of mesh under the eaves keeps air moving without blowing across the perch. Nest boxes, one per three or four hens, should sit about 60cm off the floor with a lip to stop eggs rolling out. Use dust-extracted wood shavings or hemp bedding rather than straw, which goes mouldy in damp British weather.
The run is where most beginners come unstuck. Chicken wire keeps hens in, but it will not keep a fox out. Use 16-gauge weldmesh, bury a 30cm skirt of it around the perimeter, and roof the run if you can — foxes climb, and badgers dig. Allow at least one square metre per bird in a covered run, double that if they never free-range. A roof also stops the ground turning to bog between October and March.
Feed is straightforward. A good-quality layers' pellet or mash, available all day, supplies everything they need — roughly 120g per hen per day. Alongside it, offer:
Skip scraps that have been anywhere near meat, and never feed mouldy or fermented food. Clean water is non-negotiable: refresh it daily, stand drinkers on a brick so bedding stays out, and check them on frosty mornings, when a litre of water can ice over within the hour.
Point-of-lay pullets, sold at 16–20 weeks, will start laying within a few weeks of arriving. Hybrids such as the ISA Brown or Speckled Ranger lay reliably and shrug off our climate; pure breeds like the Light Sussex, Buff Orpington, Marans and Wyandotte lay fewer eggs but live longer and come in wonderful colours. Many keepers also take on ex-commercial hens, which repay patience with a surprisingly good second career.
Buy from a breeder whose birds look bright-eyed and busy, with clean vents and smooth, pale legs. Check the perch ends of the coop for red mite before you part with money, and never tip new birds straight in with an existing flock — quarantine for three weeks first. Unless you plan to breed, stick to hens: a cockerel will crow at four in the morning and upset the neighbours.
Twenty minutes morning and evening keeps everything sweet. Let them out at first light, count heads, top up feed and water, and collect eggs before they get dirty or cracked. At dusk they will put themselves to bed; close the pop hole behind them and check the latch. A handful of corn shaken in a tin will soon have them following you about, which makes catching a poorly hen far easier.
Spend five minutes simply watching them each day. Hens hide illness until they cannot, so the first sign is usually a bird standing apart, hunched, with a pale comb or a drooping tail. Know what normal looks like and you will spot trouble early.
Give them a dust bath — dry soil mixed with wood ash — and they will keep themselves largely free of lice. Check monthly for red mite in the coop's crevices, and worm two or three times a year with a licensed poultry wormer. Soft-shelled eggs mean the oyster shell is being ignored; a dirty vent or a hot, swollen abdomen needs a vet who treats poultry. Come autumn, expect a scruffy moult and a pause in laying.
Finally, the paperwork. In the UK you must register your flock with the Animal and Plant Health Agency once you keep 50 or more birds, and housing orders during avian influenza outbreaks apply to garden flocks too. For a small backyard flock, there is nothing else to file.
Rustic Weekly shares practical, down-to-earth guidance on rustic living, traditional crafts and smallholding skills for readers across the UK.
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