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Bill, I had dithered about purchasing Conranch Hackle for a while, just like you. It was simply a matter of not getting around to it. I got around to it earlier this month and I'm really glad that I did. I'll probably get around to my next order in a few weeks. :)
It's kinda fun watching what has gone from being a post about chicken feed to a Conranch Lovefest, literally. I have this mental image of the news vans rolling up as the fly-tyers are rioting at the front gate to Conranch chanting "Charge us more! Charge us more!" The poor news crew would be at a total loss...
Ed, holding a placard saying, "Will work for Hackle".
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Another idea.
If you need to raise prices and at the same time attract new customers you can opt for offering some of the feathers in smaller packs . I know that this will increase the ampount of labor but in order to stay in business you might have to do that same thing other companies are doing smaller packs are usually marked up for higher profit. At the same if you raise the prices on whole necks and saddles I'm sure that the people who use a lot of material will keep on buying them even for higher price.
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We don't need hackle...anyone that ties quickly has more than they will ever use. We want it...and most would be surprised to see just how much we have already spent on our toys.
Raise the prices to where it makes the percentage profit you got when you started..and don't lose any sleep over it. You might even consider increasing the profit margin over that number, since as folks have pointed out...you have much better product now than you started with. Bredding those birds is a value add...more time in bloodlines means they are increasing the value of that feed more.
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Many years ago, I decided to raise some Blue Andalusians chickens for their hackle. So, I located an Amish boy on a local farm who offered to keep them for me, and I ordered a few dozen day old chicks, which my wife found in a box on our doorstep several days later.
I supplied the feed and the teenaged Amish boy supplied the chicken pens, his love of all living things, and a youthful enthusiasm.
A day or two after I had taken the chickens to him, Leon called me on the phone -- he had to ride his bike to the neighbor's farm to use their phone because, as you know, Amish don?t have phones of their own.
"My dog ate all your chickens last night, Mr. Rhoades", Leon exclaimed, and I could almost sense the tears rolling down his cheeks as we talked. "My mom says I have to pay you to buy more, Mr. Rhoades."
"That's okay, Leon", "it wasn't your fault." So, I just bought some more birds and took them to the farm.
Over the next weeks and months, as the birds began to mature, we learned that some were hens, of course, and as luck would have it, less than half were roosters.
Leon keep calling to let me know when he needed feed, which I'd buy every time and take it to the farm. As the birds got older and bigger, of course, they ate more and more. And it wasn't long before we saw that not all of them were going to be the desired shades of gray that we were after, but were either white or black.
Even though I had a tidy sum invested at that point, I told Leon he was free to do whatever he wanted to with the hens, and these off-colored roosters, because by that time they were eating me out of house and home! We still had had a half dozen nice gray colored roosters left, and how many feathers can a fellow use anyway?
As late fall approached and those roosters fully matured, I had to go away from home on an extended business trip. I guess Leon called my wife twice in the same week, soon after I left home, and it was a couple days before I got the word from her.
"Apparently, these roosters are quite the fighters" my wife said. "Leon called a couple times this week and told me that you only had one bird left." "The others killed each other fighting."
I had never known that we should keep these birds in separate cages. "Oh, well." I sighed to my wife. For sure I wasn't going to openly admit defeat on the phone to her!
"But at least we won't have to be spending so much for feed" she said.
I felt pretty bad about the whole thing. But not so bad as when Leon called me shortly after my return, just before Thanksgiving.
"Mr. Rhoades, it's Leon again" he said, in his best Pennsylvania Dutch accent. "I chust wanted ta tell ya that yer last chicken died laast niet. Ant I skint it out for ya, ant I half the feathers heer at my house if ya want ta come by ant git them."
And so, I journeyed one last time to Leon's farm. I could see the sorrow in his eyes when he handed me those dun feathers from that last bird. There must have been a dozen feathers in total. Big dirty feathers, from somewhere on the saddle I suppose. I'd never even told him in all that time what feathers I most desired, nor had I asked him to keep any dead birds so I could skin them myself.
A short time later, I changed directions and decided to become a feather importer, but that?s another story!
All of that was over 30 years ago, but my wife still reminds me from time to time just how much chicken feed costs. You don't have to tell me, and please don't mention to my wife how much feed costs now --I've got enough problems of my own. (But, too bad you're so far away, because I know a farmer----)
John