Chickenless Chicken Shows? Bird Flu Reshapes County Fairs and 4-H Kids Make Do

A swarm of kids peered into the pen of a huge sow nursing a row of piglets. They watched a teenager milk her goat, then petted a sheep named Taylor Swift. The usual refrain of oinks and bleats tumbled through the livestock stalls at the Santa Cruz County Fair in September.

But over in the poultry barn, not a cluck to be heard. Kids sporting their white 4-H uniforms, green ties and green berets sat on a cluster of hay bales, empty-handed, ordered to leave their chickens at home this year.

“It’s because the bird flu is going around and they don’t want everybody’s chickens to get sick,” said 8-year-old Caleb Perez, from Gilroy.

Perez was one of three competitors in the youngest age group of the annual chicken showmanship contest, the local Super Bowl for 4-H kids, where they get to show off their animal husbandry skills. But instead of glossing their chickens’ beaks and prodding them to stand up straight, the kids lined up on the stage in front of the judge, each holding a stuffed toy chicken.

“Is it easier to hold those than the ones at home?” said Donald Barger, licensed judge from the American Poultry Association.

“Nooooo,” the three kids chimed in unison.

“That was so hard,” said Hailey Maciel, age 8, from Watsonville, after handling the stuffed toy. “You would think it would be easier, but no, it’s actually harder because their legs are so far apart.”

California’s state veterinarian banned all live chicken shows starting last January, in an attempt to limit the spread of the highly contagious and often fatal avian influenza among poultry.

More than 182 million birds have died in the U.S. since 2022. With the fall waterfowl migration underway, scientists are already seeing a new wave of outbreaks at commercial farms, including two in Sonoma County. But as was the case with COVID-19 precautions, some people wonder if the tradeoff to kids’ education is really worth it.

Normally, the 4-H kids would sit in the barn all day holding their chickens while fairgoers passed through and petted each one.

“The people just go from kid to kid to kid,” said Pamela Flanders, director of the poultry barn. “It matures them, because they’re having to field questions from all different types of people on all different subjects related to birds.”

They also have to demonstrate poise, responsibility and knowledge in front of the judge. This year, the kids still answered quiz questions, like what kind of comb does a blue old English bantam hen have? (Answer: A single comb).

But when it came time to exhibit the proper caging of birds — head first so the chicken’s wings don’t break — the kids took turns carrying their fake chickens to the cage, putting the fake head in first, then taking it out fake-head first again. They submitted home videos of themselves calmly examining their real chickens’ feet and wings, measuring the width of the body and length of the keel bone.

It all made for a less exciting chicken show than usual, especially for the youngest animal lovers, as this was their only option. Kids aren’t allowed to compete with pigs or goats until they’re nine, after they’ve learned the basics of care and breeding with poultry.

Seven-year-old Gilroy resident Clayton Bettencourt bemoaned the absence of his chicken, Sparks, which he raised since she hatched three years ago. He said the fair just wasn’t the same without her.

“She would stay on my shoulder. She would eat my corn dog and my beans,” he said. Then she’d fall asleep in his lap. “She’s actually pretty fun. If you had her, you’d have a good time with her because she’s so sweet.”

Flanders said she hopes the state fair association will pressure officials to lift the ban on live chicken shows next year, but animal epidemiologists said that’s unlikely. The H5N1 bird flu is too widespread and too unpredictable.

“We’re dealing with an existential threat as far as food security, as far as welfare, as far as poultry maintaining its position as the number one consumer animal protein on the planet,” said Maurice Pitesky, a veterinarian and professor at the UC Davis School of Veterinary Medicine. “On average, we eat about 300 pounds of chicken per person. We eat hundreds of eggs.”

Bird flu has infected dairy cows and some human farmers, but the primary threat of the disease is to the financial viability of raising poultry, Pitesky said. Flocks are euthanized entirely if and when infection is detected in just one chicken or duck. Farmers have adopted strict biosecurity measures to protect their birds.

Gaining entry to the UC Davis campus chicken house, for example, is like getting into a hospital ICU. Visitors to the Hopkins Avian Facility must wear facemasks, lab coats, and boot covers. They’re asked to disinfect their hands and shoes multiple times.

The chickens here are used for research and supplying campus dining halls with eggs, but some commercial barns go much further with their protocols, requiring people to shower and change clothes before they go in and after they come out, Pitesky said.

Most backyard chicken farmers are not upholding such safety standards, he added, which is why it could be dangerous to let their poultry commingle at a county fair.

Pitesky said he is sensitive to the tradeoffs — he works with 4-H kids and wants them to stay excited about raising chickens so they grow up to become animal epidemiologists like him one day, ready to fight the next disease outbreak. But for now, the risk of avian influenza infecting other livestock at the fair or finding its way to a commercial chicken farm is too high.

“This is the most complex animal disease outbreak we’ve ever had,” Pitesky said. “It was probably a good decision to stop those events for now.”

So the kids must weather the fallout. At the Santa Cruz County Fair, Barger, the chicken judge, stared at his clipboard, his cowboy hat tipped over his forehead, while the music from the nearby tap dancing stage drummed in the background. He made his decision.

“In first place, would be Clayton,” he said. “A round of applause for these young exhibitors.”

Clayton Bettencourt held up his first-place ribbon for the cameras, his chest puffed out as if this were the outcome he expected. He looked like a character out of a Wes Anderson film. But it was a bittersweet win for him.

“I still feel bad,” he said, “’cause there’s no chickens.”