The 3 Livestock I Wish I Had Known About My First Year Homesteading

The woman at the feed store told me chickens were the easiest place to start. “Get a few hens,” she said, “they practically take care of themselves.” Three years later, I’m standing in my kitchen at 5:30 AM listening to Hank the cat yowl on the porch while our rooster screams his head off, and I’m thinking about all the low-maintenance livestock options for the first-time homesteader that nobody mentioned back then.

Ben’s already up, probably because the goats are hollering too. Through the window, I can see him trudging toward the fence line where Pepper has somehow gotten her head stuck again. This is our life now, and honestly, there are animals that would’ve made those first months a lot easier.

The Easiest Livestock for Beginners

Rabbits should’ve been first. I know that now. While I was googling chicken coop plans and arguing with Ben about whether we needed a run or could free-range (spoiler: we needed a run), rabbits were sitting right there in the farm supply catalogs being perfect starter livestock.

They’re quiet. They don’t escape constantly like Pepper does. You can raise them in a space smaller than most chicken coops, and they reproduce faster than you can eat them if you’re going the meat route. Plus, rabbit manure goes straight into the garden without composting – something I didn’t learn until year two when I was still letting perfectly good chicken droppings sit in a pile behind the barn.

Quail would’ve been smart too, though Ben still insists they’re “too fancy” for our operation. They’re like chickens but smaller, quieter, and they start laying at six weeks instead of six months. The eggs are tiny but rich, and you can keep them in a setup that takes up about as much space as a large dog crate.

Why Chickens Aren’t Always the Best Choice

Don’t get me wrong – I love our chickens now. But that first year, they were a nightmare I wasn’t prepared for. The feed store woman failed to mention that chickens are basically feathered toddlers with a death wish.

They got into everything. They scratched up my seedlings faster than I could replant them. One of them – I swear it was the same Rhode Island Red every time – figured out how to open the gate latch and would lead jailbreaks into the neighbors’ yard. Ben spent three weekends reinforcing the run only to find them roosting in our truck bed the next Monday.

Plus the predator pressure. We lost four birds to foxes that first winter because I thought “secured” meant “has a roof.” Turns out foxes are basically liquid and can squeeze through gaps I wouldn’t have thought twice about.

The Goat Situation

Ben wanted goats from day one. I said absolutely not, goats are too much work, too smart, too destructive. Then we got Pepper and June anyway because Ben saw them at the livestock auction and came home with that look he gets when he’s already made a decision but hasn’t told me yet.

Here’s the contradictory truth about goats: they’re simultaneously the worst and best livestock choice for beginners. Pepper has eaten three fruit trees, two rose bushes, and somehow got into the garage and chewed through a extension cord. But both goats are healthier than our chickens ever were, never get sick, and their milk alone has paid for their feed twice over.

They’re escape artists, but they’re also incredibly hardy. They require better fencing than chickens but less daily fussing. June follows me around the property like a dog, and watching her kids play last spring was worth every headache Pepper has caused.

4 Steps to Raising Rabbits (Without Losing Your Mind)

The setup is straightforward compared to chickens. No need for elaborate coops or runs. A simple hutch system works fine, and you can expand gradually without rebuilding everything like we had to do with the chicken situation.

Rabbits also convert feed to protein more efficiently than chickens. One doe can produce 35 pounds of meat per year, which is more than most backyard chicken flocks will give you in eggs and occasional stew birds combined.

The manure situation alone makes them worth it. While I’m still composting chicken droppings and trying to time applications right, rabbit pellets go straight from hutch to garden bed. Ben finally admitted last month that the section of the garden where I’d been dumping rabbit manure looked “suspiciously better” than everywhere else.

The Sheep I Didn’t Know I Needed

This is where I have to admit Ben was right about something, which kills me a little. He kept saying we should look into sheep, and I kept saying we didn’t have enough pasture. Turns out you can raise a small flock on less land than I thought, and they’re incredibly low-maintenance once you get the fencing sorted.

Hair sheep – not wool sheep – are basically large, efficient lawn mowers that occasionally produce lambs. They don’t need shearing, they’re parasite-resistant compared to other livestock, and they’ll clear brush and weeds that goats won’t touch. A friend down the road has four Katahdin ewes on two acres, and they keep his property looking better than any mowing schedule ever could.

The initial fence investment is significant – you need something that’ll actually contain them, unlike our jerry-rigged chicken wire situation – but after that, they’re largely self-sufficient. Feed costs are minimal if you have decent pasture, and they’re calm enough that our barn cat Hank has started napping between them on sunny afternoons.

The sheep just stand there looking judgmental while eating everything I don’t want to mow. It’s perfect.

The Part Where I Messed Up

I spent the entire first year overthinking chickens and completely ignored every other option. Not just rabbits and sheep, but ducks, which would’ve been perfect for the wet spot behind the barn that floods every spring. Not geese, which could’ve handled our grass situation and provided down for pillows. Not even guinea fowl, which Ben swears would’ve solved our tick problem.

Instead, I read seventeen books about chicken breeds and spent three months building a coop that was too small and poorly ventilated. By the time I realized chickens weren’t the magic easy-animal I’d been promised, we were already committed to the infrastructure and the daily routine of dealing with their various disasters.

The real mistake was not starting smaller and simpler. Rabbits in a basic hutch would’ve given us meat and manure while I figured out what we actually wanted long-term. Instead, I jumped straight into chickens because that’s what everyone said to do, and spent a year learning the hard way that “everyone” might not know what they’re talking about.

Is It Ever Really Worth It?

Ben asked me this last week while we were fixing the section of fence that Pepper had somehow bent outward. “Do you think we should’ve just kept buying eggs and meat at the store?”

Honestly? I don’t know. The work-to-reward ratio is still unclear, three years in. Some days I’m collecting eggs and thinking about how much easier life was when protein came from the grocery store. Other days I’m watching June’s kids bounce around the pasture, or collecting enough eggs to give away to neighbors, and it feels like we’re doing something right.

What I do know is that if I started over, I’d begin with rabbits. Simple, productive, forgiving of beginner mistakes. Then maybe add sheep for the pasture management, and only get chickens after I understood what I was actually committing to.

But then again, maybe the mess and the learning curve and the 5:30 AM rooster concerts are part of it. Maybe there’s no clean, efficient path through this, and the animals that seem hardest at first are the ones that teach you the most about what you’re actually trying to do out here. Ben would say I’m overthinking it again, and he’s probably…