The 3 Homesteading Animals We Tried (And What Actually Worked)
When we decided to add animals to our five-acre Tennessee homestead, I spent weeks researching the best low-maintenance homesteading animals for beginners with limited space and experience. I made spreadsheets comparing feed costs, housing requirements, and time commitments. Ben just wanted goats because they looked fun.
Three years in, we’ve settled on chickens, goats, and one barn cat who adopted us. Not exactly revolutionary choices, but they work with our setup and our complete lack of farming background. Here’s what we learned about keeping animals when you’re still figuring out the basics.
The 3 Homesteading Animals We Chose (And Why)
Our chicken flock started with six Rhode Island Reds from the feed store. They’re supposed to be bulletproof for beginners – cold hardy, good egg layers, not too flighty. We lost one to a hawk the first month, added six more, and now we’re at a steady twelve birds. They free-range most days, which means less feed cost but more poop on the porch.
The goats came second. Pepper and June are Nigerian Dwarfs, small enough that I can handle them alone but still big enough to clear brush effectively. Ben insisted we needed goats to manage the overgrown pasture, and honestly, he was right. They’ve opened up areas that would have cost hundreds to bush-hog.
Hank the barn cat just showed up one morning, gray tabby with a torn ear, sitting on the porch like he’d always lived here. He’s not technically livestock, but he works for his keep. The mouse problem in the feed shed disappeared within a week of his arrival.
All three require different levels of involvement. The chickens need daily egg collection and weekly coop cleaning. The goats need twice-daily check-ins, hoof trimming every few months, and constant fence repairs. Hank needs nothing except occasional vet bills when he gets into fights with whatever lives in the woods.
Tuesday After the Storm
Last month’s thunderstorm knocked down a section of goat fencing and left the chicken coop door hanging by one hinge. I found Pepper standing in the middle of my tomato plants at dawn, methodically eating every green fruit she could reach. June was in the herb spiral, destroying my basil.
The chickens had discovered the open coop and were scattered across the yard, pecking at everything. Three had made it to the neighbor’s driveway. Ben was already gone for work, and I had a client call in an hour.
Standing there in my pajamas, watching Pepper eye my pepper plants with obvious intent, I understood something important about small-scale animal keeping. It’s not the daily routine that breaks you – it’s the random Tuesday when everything goes wrong at once and you’re the only one there to fix it.
Took me forty minutes to herd the goats back, another twenty to catch the chickens, and I was still picking wood splinters out of my hands when my client called. The tomatoes were a total loss.
What We Needed to Get the Soil Right
Before any animals arrived, we had to deal with the compacted clay that passes for soil around here. The previous owners had kept horses, and twenty years of hooves had turned most of the pasture into hardpan.
- Soil test first: Tennessee Extension office does them for twelve dollars. Our pH was too high, nitrogen too low, and the phosphorus levels were all over the place.
- Lime application in fall: Spread 50 pounds per acre of agricultural lime in October. The chickens helped by scratching it in, though they also ate some of it, which worried me until the feed store guy said it wouldn’t hurt them.
- Overseed with clover: White clover fixes nitrogen and the goats love it. We broadcast seeded in early spring, right before the last frost. Germination was spotty the first year but filled in nicely by year two.
- Rotational grazing setup: Built temporary paddocks with cattle panels and step-in posts. Move the goats every two weeks to prevent overgrazing. This was Ben’s idea and probably the smartest thing we’ve done.
- Chicken tractor for garden prep: Mobile coop that we move around areas we want to plant. The chickens eat bugs, add fertilizer, and scratch up weeds. Works better than any rototiller we’ve tried.
The whole process took two seasons to show real improvement. Year three, we finally have grass that grows without irrigation and soil that doesn’t turn to concrete when it dries out.
Does Any of This Actually Save Money?
This is where the homesteading fantasy crashes into arithmetic. We get about eight eggs a day from twelve chickens, which sounds impressive until you factor in feed costs, bedding, and the fact that I just spent sixty dollars on medication for a chicken with bumblefoot.
Store eggs cost three-fifty a dozen here. Our eggs cost about two dollars per dozen in feed alone, not counting housing, fencing, or the hours I spend chasing them out of the garden. Add the initial setup costs – coop, fencing, feeders, waterers – and we won’t break even for another two years.
The goats are worse. They eat thirty dollars worth of feed monthly, plus hay in winter. Hoof trimming costs forty dollars every few months because I still can’t do it myself without someone getting hurt. Their brush clearing is valuable, but I could hire someone to bush-hog the whole pasture for what we spend on goat feed in a year.
Ben keeps saying we’re not just buying food, we’re buying the experience and the security of knowing where our eggs come from. He’s probably right, but that’s expensive peace of mind.
The Fence, Again
Goat fencing is like painting a house – as soon as you finish one section, another needs work. Pepper has figured out that if she hits the fence posts at just the right angle, the whole panel shifts enough for her to squeeze through. We’ve replaced that corner three times.
Ben wants to run electric wire along the top, but I’m worried about the chickens flying into it. The feed store suggested hot tape instead of wire, which apparently hurts less but still teaches respect for boundaries. We bought a roll two months ago. It’s still sitting in the barn.
Every morning I walk the fence line looking for new damage or weak spots. It’s become part of the routine, like checking the chicken waterer or refilling the goat mineral feeder. Some days I find nothing. Other days I find Pepper standing in the neighbor’s yard, looking pleased with herself.
I Still Buy Half Our Groceries
Despite having chickens, goats, and a half-acre garden, I still make weekly trips to the grocery store. We get eggs and occasional goat milk, plus whatever vegetables survive the bugs and the heat. But we still buy meat, dairy, grains, and anything that requires processing.
The fantasy was complete self-sufficiency – growing and raising everything we needed. The reality is twelve chickens, two goats who give just enough milk for morning coffee, and a garden that produces feast or famine depending on the weather.
Some weeks we eat exclusively from the homestead. Other weeks the squash bugs destroy everything and I’m at Food Lion buying vegetables that traveled a thousand miles to get here. The inconsistency is harder to manage than I expected.
Ben thinks we should add meat chickens and maybe a pig. I think we should figure out how to keep the tomatoes alive through August before we add more animals to worry about.
Is It Worth the Work?
Three years in, I still don’t know. The daily routine has become automatic – let the chickens out, check the goat water, collect eggs, close the coop at dusk. But the unexpected problems never stop coming. Sick animals, broken fences, predators, weather damage, escape artists who eat your vegetables.
Last week Hank brought a half-dead mouse to the porch and dropped it at my feet like an offering. The mouse recovered enough to run under the house, where it’s probably making a nest. The cat looked proud. I looked at the blood on my porch and wondered if this is really simpler than just buying eggs at the store.
But yesterday morning I found June standing guard over a newborn kid I didn’t even know she was carrying. Pepper had somehow opened the gate between paddocks and was grazing peacefully next to the chicken tractor. The eggs were waiting in the nesting boxes, still warm.
Ben stood next to me watching the goats and said we should probably fix that gate latch before the kid learns to escape too, but maybe we could have coffee first.
Some mornings feel like we’re getting somewhere. Others feel like we’re just making expensive mistakes with good intentions. I haven’t figured out which days are which, or if that even matters.
