Chicken coop user manual: A chicken's heartfelt message to its peers

Fellow compatriots, I am your senior predecessor—a veteran chicken that has lived in both leaky, dilapidated sheds and five-star poultry houses. Today, I would like to earnestly discuss with you: what exactly is the purpose of that "square box" constructed by that bipedal creature?

Do not underestimate it. In human terms, it is real estate; in the language of chickens, it is the lifeline.

First, it cured my "weather forecast phobia." Have you ever experienced this: you're engrossed in counting insects when suddenly the sky darkens and a fierce wind brings raindrops pouring down? Our feathers may look fluffy, but they're utterly waterproof. In just three seconds, you're drenched like a wet rag—and you'll shiver through the night—the experience even worse than having your insects stolen.

Since moving into the chicken coop, I no longer have to worry about the weather. Rain? I pace back and forth inside. Snow? I squat on the hay and doze off. Scorching midday sun? I seek shade, spread my wings, and use them as a chicken-shaped cloth. In short, the coop is our all-weather resort—whether it's windy or rainy outside, I remain as steadfast as a rock.

Second, it protected me from the "Night Assassin." You may not know, but there exists one of the most cunning creatures in the world—the weasel. This creature specifically targets us during the dark hours when we are blind—once night falls, we are essentially completely blind and cannot even flee. Sleeping outdoors essentially means exposing ourselves to potential threats.

But I'm not afraid anymore. As soon as evening falls, the two-legged beasts lock the chicken coop door with a "click." That door is thick and sturdy; even if the weasels scratch at it so fiercely outside that sparks fly, they can't get inside. I crouch on the perch, listening for any movement outside, and all I want to say is: Come on in! Getting inside shows you've got real skill. At that moment, I'm the most arrogant chicken in the entire world.

Third, it gave me a sense of 'private space.' To be honest, even chickens have their privacy. Take hens laying eggs, for example—just imagine them squatting in the grass under the open sky while laying eggs, with roosters watching nearby. What a scene that would be! Even you would feel embarrassed.

Fortunately, chicken coops are usually equipped with egg-laying boxes. These are small, enclosed compartments separated by wooden boards, lined with soft straw. Once inside, one finds a cozy, warm environment tailored specifically for chickens. Each time I spend a few minutes there, I emerge with a warm egg—a sense of relief, as if the chickens have had a successful egg-laying cycle. Additionally, there are sand baths where the chickens can roll and splash around, covered in dust, feeling as refreshed as if they were undergoing a spa treatment. Who could say chickens lack a quality of life?

Fourth, it enables us to "fall ill less frequently and encounter fewer foul odors." Have you ever smelled the manure pile beneath your feet? The odor is... overwhelming. More alarmingly, the moist manure harbors coccidia and bacteria; repeated trampling or pecking at the feed can cause diarrhea throughout the entire flock of chickens. This is what the poultry fears most—and what we fear as well.

But a dry chicken coop is different. The floor is covered with dry straw or wood chips, and manure or urine either leaks through or is promptly removed by diligent workers. Under our feet, it remains consistently dry, clean, and fresh—free from ammonia odor and the sight of flies buzzing about. Do you know what this means? It means we don't have to spend every day immersed in manure pits—that's right, such simple happiness.

Fifth, it allows us to "sleep like babies." You may not know that chickens require a completely dark environment after dusk to sleep soundly. The presence of light, wind sounds, or wild cats climbing walls during the night can cause insomnia. The consequences of insomnia are severe: lethargy the next day, defeat in fights, and thin eggshells.

A reliable chicken coop remains pitch black after dark, quiet as a library. We crouched one by one on the perches, folding our wings and tucking our necks in as we drifted into sleep. Our dreams were filled with insects and corn kernels. At dawn the next day, when we opened the door, each of us was full of vitality—as if we could fight ten opponents at once.

Dear fellow citizens, please remember: The chicken coop is not a prison that restricts our freedom, but rather a fortress, hotel, and hospital that safeguards our liberty. Only a chicken that lives well, eats abundantly, and sleeps soundly can live up to its dignity as a chicken.

As for your question—how can the two-legged beasts build us a proper chicken coop? They need to lay more eggs, which must be large and have hard shells. Once they are pleased, everything is ready.

Alright, I'm going to lay an egg. Goodbye.