A Pet You Can Return, for the Hamptons Set

By Parker Henry

“I could talk about chickens all day long,” Ida DeFrancesco, a farmer and an affiliate of Rent the Chicken, an all-inclusive chicken-rental service, said not long ago. For twelve hundred dollars, Rent the Chicken will deliver a chicken coop, two to four “egg-laying-ready” hens, more than a hundred pounds of feed, and instructions on “how to keep your chickens happy.” From their farm in Wallingford, Connecticut, DeFrancesco, or Homestead Ida, as she is known to her customers, and her husband, Joe (Farmer Joe), provide a growing number of families in the Hamptons with the chance to enjoy farm-fresh eggs and a pet that can be returned by Labor Day. On a recent Sunday, Homestead Ida and Farmer Joe were busy checking in on some of their rentals.

The pair, wearing matching Rent the Chicken T-shirts, pulled up in a red S.U.V. to a shingle-style home in Bridgehampton. They’d brought gifts: a bushel of lavender (“It helps them when they’re feeling broody,” Joe explained) and a bag of dried mealworms (“their favorite high-protein snack,” Ida said).

Alina, a leveraged-buyout attorney turned stay-at-home mom, strode out in a tie-dyed caftan, with a stack of diamond bracelets. “If you want to know anything about the chickens, you’ll have to ask my four-year-old,” she said. The four-year old, Oliver, was clinging to his au pair in the pool. “Be Prepared,” the coup anthem from “The Lion King,” boomed through outdoor speakers. Rich, Alina’s husband, who runs a renewable-energy business, emerged from the kitchen in a bright-blue bathing suit, holding a tequila on the rocks.

“Hey, Ollie, can we put on something a little less ominous, please?” he said. He stretched out on an outdoor sofa and explained how he’d heard about Rent the Chicken: “I was at a polo match where a guy was telling me about leasing horses, which turned me on to his whole incredible world of renting animals.” The family will return their rental chickens in August, when their children, Oliver and Ellis (“like the island,” Alina said), go back to school in Houston.

Rich told Ida that he was concerned about the chickens’ recent habit of digging in the dirt. “A dirt bath,” Ida said. “They love that.”

Rich looked relieved. “I just wanted to check and make sure it wasn’t some form of depression,” he said.

Joe inspected the coop—a six-foot-long structure resembling a mini-barn. “You should put some sawdust down in the nesting box for them,” he suggested.

“I bought special silicon pads, but they haven’t come yet,” Rich said. “That reminds me: we need to work on your upsell strategy, Joe, because I keep having to go to Amazon for all my accessories.” Nearby sat one recent purchase: a small picnic bench (for the chickens “to sit at”), where, according to Rich, “Oliver likes to mix a special concoction of saliva and worms for the chickens.”

Chicken check done, Ida and Joe got in their S.U.V. to look in on the next flock, in Westhampton. Ivy, an anesthesiologist from New Jersey, opened a gate wearing a wide-brimmed green visor and bicycle shorts. Four chickens ran frantically around the yard, purring. (“Yes, chickens purr,” Joe said.) Ivy’s children and grandchildren were staying with her in June. “The short-term chicken rental was just perfect for us!” Ivy said.

Ivy’s son, Kevin, a surgical intern, came out wearing a pink bathing suit and neck chains, and introduced himself. “I’m the Chicken Daddy,” he said.

Ida asked if the children had named the chickens. Brayden, Ivy’s four-year-old grandson, replied, “Yes, they’re called Chicken, Ry-Ry, Rocky, and . . .” Nobody remembered the name of the fourth one. Ivy chimed in, “Wasn’t it . . . Bubba?”

Close by, a chicken turned her back to Abby, Ivy’s granddaughter, and squatted, splaying her feathers. “What’s she doing?” Ivy asked.

“She’s submitting,” Ida said. “She thinks Abby is the top girl and has established her as high in the pecking order.” Abby beamed.

Conversation turned to the subject of death. (The company’s Web site has an F.A.Q. page that includes the question “What if my Rent The Chicken dies?”) “Well, they are living beings, so, yes, they sometimes die,” Ida said. “Sometimes families will request that we deliver a chicken that looks like the deceased one so that the kid doesn’t know.”

One of the biggest problems the chickens face: overindulgence. “We can always tell when spouses don’t talk,” Ida said. “A chicken will never turn down a second meal, so if families aren’t communicating the chickens come back to us heavy and waddling.”

She turned to see Abby feeding another one of the chickens. “Look!” she said. “She’s eating out of the palm of your hand!” ♦