Nashville’s urban chicken fad may have run its course. Four years after backyard hens were first allowed, the number of permits is on the decline. Some say that it’s mostly dedicated chicken owners now left to tend their flocks.
When Alyce
Dobyns
steps into her backyard coop to show off her red, white, and black hens, she refers to them as “The Girls.”
She says they’re trained. The feedbag is the trick.
“They either hear it — look, see — or they see the yellow bag of chicken treats … See ’em running!?”
Dobyns raises her speckled egg-layers in Inglewood, one of the hotbeds for Nashville’s urban chicken movement. It ranks second for permits behind Antioch.
Dobyns is a big reason why. She teaches backyard chicken classes at her local library branch.
Top hen ZIPs in Davidson County
37211: 36
37205: 34
37216: 31
37206: 29
37215: 23
She also became something of a lobbyist in 2012 to change Metro law to allow the birds she loves.
“I got attached to these chickens. I was fascinated,” she says. “I’d take my afternoon cocktail out to the patio and let ’em out of their little dog coop … They developed these little personalities and I talk to them and, you know, it’s like the crazy chicken lady, yes.”
She’s not alone.
At the peak, about 250 Nashville homes had permits for backyard hens. But
newly released numbers count 176.
The decrease doesn’t surprise
Dobyns.
“Several years ago, it was popular! It’s like everyone getting the Chihuahua after seeing ‘Legally Blonde.’ You know, ‘We’ve got to go get some chickens,’ ” she says.
(Chihuahua boom? It’s true, says a popular animal shelter in Los Angeles, where the dog breed is now the most popular in the city. The purebred price has also jumped, although a breeder in Texas told WPLN’s news interns that the reason was likely “Beverly Hills Chihuahua.”)
When Nashville’s chicken ordinance passed in 2012, some feared they would become a nuisance. Metro has fielded about 150 chicken complaints each year — but most are for homes without permits.
Chickens Tougher Than Anticipated
A few blocks from
Dobyns, Bill Yeary also says it was a “fad.”
“I go way back with chickens,” he says. “I grew up on a large farm in East Tennessee and there’s nothing like having your own eggs.”
But fresh eggs require fresh daily water and fighting off predators like raccoons, rats, and foxes. Last year, disease swept through some local flocks.
The challenges washed away many first-time chicken farmers. But not Yeary, an expert who says he was motivated by two decades of “chickenless remorse.”
He built his heritage hens a large coop — and nicknamed it the Cluck Mahal.
“You see your chickens kind of hanging out doing their things inside and you’re like, ‘Well, they really don’t have enough room,’ ” he says.
He doubled its square footage and added a temperature-controlled water dispenser.
“And it may grow even bigger, but probably not.”
If Yeary adds on again, he’ll have to pass an inspection. That’s another rule that deters some would-be chicken farmers. But not the die-hards.
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