When I tell people that I grew up on a dairy farm, usually they ask me what kinds of animals we had on the farm. Of course, every dairy farmer has dairy cows on their farm because that’s how they make their living, but there are often other kinds of animals that also call the farm home. When someone asked me the other day what kind of animals we had on our farm, I was reminded of a particular incident that occurred a few months ago, leaving our family with a newfound friend.
Since I can remember we have had cats, dogs, and pigs on our farm. I spent my time as a young child begging my dad to get me a horse while he gave me reasons as to why we didn’t have a place for one on the farm. When we would go to the store, I was allowed to get one thing for my horse that I was going to eventually buy someday. This sufficed and eventually the horse phase wore off. I then moved on to annoying my parents by looking at classifieds that included goats for sale. I didn’t get very far with that one either. My sister was deathly afraid of birds, so as much as I wanted to get chickens and ducks, and even though my dad was on board, we weren’t allowed to have any. I guess the pigs would do.
Although I don’t live on the farm anymore, I do go back to visit occasionally, getting my fix of farm time in. When I arrived the one day, my dad explained to me that we had a new addition to our farm. He pointed across the yard and my eyes came across a single chicken. Confused, I asked him why they would get just one, and why they had even gotten one in the first place — as my sister is still working on the farm and is still scared of them. “She came to us,” he said. What?
He began to explain that a day before the service man for the parlor came to do his routine checkup. My brother noticed a chicken roaming around the yard and asked if it was his, he said no and didn’t seem to know where it came from. It is assumed that the chicken hitched a ride on his service truck and made the hike to our farm along with him, thinking our farm would be a good resting place.
The service man left, and we ended up with a chicken named Betty Lou (my dad came up with the name), who lays one egg a day, roams the yard minding her own business, and likes to chase after my dog. My sister isn’t too pleased.
Jenna Byrne is an associate editor for Hoard’s Dairyman. She graduated from the University of Wisconsin-Platteville in 2022, majoring in agricultural business with an emphasis in communications and marketing. She grew up on her family’s dairy farm near Neillsville, Wis.
