We’ve all been there.

You fall down a “what to buy for chickens” rabbit hole and end up with a rainbow-colored feeder, 17 supplement bottles, and a coop sign that says “Farm Sweet Farm” while your hen just pooped in your coffee.

Most kits out there are curated for cuteness—not chaos-tested chicken keeping.

So we built something better.

Most backyard keepers panic at the word “rooster.” Add more than one, and people assume it’s only a matter of time before blood spills in the coop. But here’s the thing: bachelor flocks—groups of all-male chickens—can work. In fact, they can thrive.

Whether you’re flush with surprise cockerels, preserving rare genetics, or you just like watching a bunch of pretty boys sunbathe (we see you), a rooster-only flock isn’t a fight club—if you set it up right.

There are chicken breeds that practically hatch themselves.
Swedish Flower Hens? No problem.
Icelandics? Born ready.
Hedemora? Practically hatch out, stretch, and ask for fermented feed.

And then there are Olandsk Dwarfs.
Tiny white eggs. High hopes.
Tiny heartbreaks.

“Why Didn’t My Eggs Hatch?”

Short answer: Because shipped eggs are a freakin’ gamble.
Long answer? Grab a snack.

Some chickens are bred for symmetry.
These? They were bred for storms, rocky soil, and the kind of grit you can’t fake.

Meet the Feathered Misfits: six rare landrace breeds that don’t fit the showroom mold—but absolutely belong in your coop. They’re rugged, genetically diverse, and tied to centuries of natural selection. No marketing magic. Just survival on their own terms.

Let’s get real: raising chickens is always a little chaotic. But when you raise landrace birds—the kind bred for survival, not show points—you get a whole different level of “surprise.”

We’ve learned a lot over the years (sometimes by mistake). So in the spirit of honest chicken keeping, here are five things we wish someone had told us sooner.

Let’s get this out of the way: I didn’t set out to create a merch line.
I set out to raise landrace chickens. To preserve genetics. To keep birds alive through Ohio winters and broody drama and raccoons with a grudge.

But somewhere between the frozen waterers, exploding broody poop, and a certain tiny rooster with zero sense of self-preservation, the Clancy Collection just... happened.

And honestly? I’ve never been prouder.

Let’s Cut to the Chase.

We’ve paused chick shipping.
Why? Because USPS delays + baby birds = disaster. We’ve lost sleep—and birds—trying to make that system work. We’re done.

There you are—just trying to collect some eggs—and suddenly your sweetest hen turns into a puffed-up velociraptor with murder in her eyes.

Congrats. You’ve got a broody hen.

Whether she’s gently growling or straight-up lunging like she’s defending a dragon egg, we’ve got you covered. Here’s how to figure out what kind of broody you’re dealing with—and what to do next.

Let’s not sugarcoat it:
The USPS has failed us.
More importantly, they’ve failed the chicks we work so damn hard to raise.

We’re not here to play nice when lives are on the line.
After multiple weeks of brutal shipping delays, missed scans, and live chicks being stranded in warehouses — we’re done.

Let’s be real.  Every backyard chicken keeper has a vibe. Maybe you’re the spreadsheet warrior who refreshes the brooder temp every 30 minutes. Or maybe you’re the laid-back, “they’ll be fine” type who gives your chickens side-eye if they even think about drama.

The Gross but Necessary Guide to Chick Booty Care

We love baby chicks. They’re fluffy, sweet, and impossibly cute… until you notice one dragging around a crusty blob on its butt like it lost a fight with a raisin.

Welcome to pasty butt—a common but potentially dangerous condition where poop sticks to the downy feathers around a chick’s vent, sometimes blocking them from pooping entirely.