When we were first thinking about bringing home some farm inhabitants, we were thinking along the lines of that timeless children’s tune, “Old MacDonald”. Between the choruses of moos, oinks and quacks, we realized that we had forgotten one important fact: We live in the city and the local ordinances made those critters illegal. With their various barnyard smells and sounds, they are not considered to be good neighbors in an urban environment.

Through a quirk of fate, an internet friend introduced us to the species that Old MacDonald overlooked: the Itty City Biddies AKA Coturnix quail. A small group of these fabulous birds can produce both eggs and meat for your family’s consumption, while only occupying the amount of space required to park a car. If you’ve never considered raising quail, then you may be missing out on the perfect (little) poultry.

When we eventually pack up to relocate to a farm, the quail will always have a place in our hearts and on our property due to their easygoing nature and their low maintenance. Quail require access to fresh water, gamebird feed and secure housing to keep neighborhood cats and dogs from bothering them. That is about it!

Domesticated in Asia, Coturnix quail are the kissing-cousins of chickens, pheasants and partridges. Hens begin to lay eggs at six weeks of age and birds of either sex can be slaughtered at seven weeks of age. They consume very little feed, making them an economical choice, too.

Fairly gentle birds, Coturnix quail come in many varieties and are easily raised in small spaces. Unlike chicken roosters, the crow of a male quail isn’t as long, nor does it carry as far. The sound always reminds me of that duck on those tv commercials. Aside from the crowing, most Coturnix quail make a pleasant chirping sound, which is similar to that of a cricket. This makes them a community-friendly choice, even for those living in the close quarters of an urban or suburban environment. Our quail are housed close to the garden, which ensures that they receive a steady diet of bugs every time that the garden is weeded. They aren’t at all picky. If it can wiggle and fit into their mouths, then they will endeavor to eat it!

We’ve noticed that having caged birds in the backyard encourages other species to hang out in the yard. We get regular visits from grackles, crows, robins, sparrows, blue jays, cardinals, pigeons, doves and the occasional peregrine falcon.

As with any livestock, you’ll want to check with the local zoning office and respective state government to determine if quail are permitted in your area. In many states, it is illegal to raise or release domestic game birds without a government-issued permit.

Last Saturday, thanks to the ALBC breed finder, we headed out to the home of GRIT and MOTHER EARTH NEWS reader Margaret Kramar to pick up a replacement hen for the wonderful layer we lost in the 113-degree heat this past summer.

Margaret and her family were a pleasure to talk to, and in this business you often don’t get the opportunity to interface directly with readers; it’s such a nice alternative to emailing and phone conversations.

Here’s our new little Hamburg hen (speckled, pretty, smaller bird on the left). She was just hatched this past spring, so I'm glad to get her in her first year. There was a little scuffling and establishing pecking order in the first few minutes, but when I went out later that first night with a flashlight, our two hens were roosted right next to one another in the coop on the same roosting bar. I think now it's safe to call them buds.

We’ve never named our hens, not for any other reason than we have two different breeds, so they are simply: the Hamburg and the Dorking. I really don’t buy into the if-you-name-it-you-won’t-want-to-eat-it philosophy, so maybe these girls end up with a name at some point.

Our chickens are laying hens, definitely, but a few years from now we will end up stewing them as well. I’ll probably have to take them away from the house and wife for the processing, since it’s not the most pleasant thing for anyone to process the animal they raise, but it’s completely necessary in my opinion.

By the time I got to our former Hamburg, rigor mortis had set in, so she was buried in the backyard instead of reaching the proverbial stew pot. Really, she should have been burned to prevent any chance of disease, I know, but we currently live in town and that’s just not possible.

Anyways, I strongly endorse the American Livestock Breeds Conservancy’s online directory and rare breed locator on their website. Type in the species or even specific breed you are looking for, your city or zip code, and proximity parameters, and you can locate a member of the ALBC closest to you. It’s a breeze.

One phone call to Margaret, and we had ourselves a replacement Hamburg that will be just as appreciated as her predecessor, and hopefully we can see her through to an older age. It certainly was an added bonus that the Kramars are dedicated to country living and rare-breed conservation – values that I think are probably widespread among the ALBC members by definition – not to mention good GRITty folks!

Now, just to convince Gwendolyn to add a couple of meat rabbits to the space we have, and between poultry, venison and rabbits, we’ll be doing about all of the home-meat processing that we can until we make our way out where the pavement ends.

My neighbor and I had been talking about getting chickens. Although we live right in the city of Detroit, there is an abundance of space, and urban agriculture has caught on here like wildfire. Communities of would-be farmers have crystallized around movements like the Garden Resource Program, which sponsors plant distributions, farmers market participation, gardening classes, bee-keeping groups and more. Over the last several years, Phil and I have (re)established home gardens and worked to keep them active around the year. We have had plentiful yields, even selling occasional overflows of organic produce to local shops and at market. Expanding into poultry would be an exciting move towards self-sufficiency. We were acquainted with an underground network of chicken keepers (poultry are illegal within the city limits) who were eager to share extra chicks as well as wisdom. Once we vocalized our interest in a flock, the pressure was on to get started. A friend had a new batch of baby chicks and was ready to send some our way.

Although I am a powerful magnet for wayward animals and would normally have jumped at the chance to house a group of fine, feathery ladies, an upcoming commitment required me to avoid any dependents upon which a landlord might look askance. Phil, on the other hand, was ready to commit. The flock would therefore be located at his home, situated on a lush city property of very generous proportions. These would be happy chickens, and I would be able to assist with their care. We agreed to take some of our friend's chicks knowing that they would not be moved for several more weeks. This left plenty of time to design and build the chicken coop, a step which turned out to be deceptively simple.

One dark and rainy Wednesday we set out to measure the far corner of his yard. It is bounded by two 10 foot high walls of cement block that have foundations approximately four feet in depth. The area is graded with course stones. An avid salvager, Phil had already located fence pieces that might be incorporated into a pen. He mocked up a rectangular enclosure of about 14 by 18 feet and proposed a coop tucked into the corner of the cement walls, covered by a roof that sloped down towards the gently shaded outdoor run.

Upon saturation from the pouring rain, we retreated to the kitchen to brew a pot of coffee and transfer our soggy measurements onto something more substantial. He stood at the window as we drew, checking to see that the pen was positioned for optimal visibility from the kitchen table. Those in a rural setting may find it odd, but in this urban context, the visual accessibility of the chickens was almost a quality of life concern. By looking past the pond full of golden fish, past the leafy garden plot, and into a picturesque yard of chickens about their business, one might occasionally forget that he or she is surrounded by a troubled city. For Phil, a homicide detective that works nights for the Detroit PD, this was an unspoken but understandable priority.

While we had both the knowledge and the materials to start construction on the coop immediately, it didn't happen. The plan became more and more elaborate (although charming and nearly maintenance-free, at least in theory), and our time to build was constrained by other projects. The keeper of the chicks reminded us once or twice that they were getting big enough to move to their new home, but still we took our time with plans for the coop and avoided a committed date to pick up the chickens. Avoidance does not work well in this city; suffice it to say, we all frequent the same restaurants. Sure enough, sooner rather than later, we had to take the plunge. On May 21st at 10:30pm, as our friend was cheerfully departing town for a holiday weekend in Nashville, I found myself standing outside her house with a pet carrier full of little chickens.

Today is May 22nd, and as I am typing this, I can hear them chirping in my bathroom. The cats and the dog, normally adversarial, have taken a united interest in getting inside the room. They have been camped outside the door since the chickens arrived. Each time I pass through the hallway, I receive very earnest looks regarding their need for thumbed assistance in the turning of the knob. This weekend, the chicken coop will rise to the top of the Projects list.