i used to just want friends who have chickens, but now i’d like them for myself. omar is a bit more apprehensive. when i bring it up he gets all serious and shakes his head and starts telling stories about when he had chickens when he was little. they’re not pleasant stories and they end in a rather dramatic manner when he describes how his parents’ yard used to be sloped and when the rains were heavy it turned into a mini ocean. and the chickens weren’t good swimmers. if you follow me.
sometimes the chicken stories are followed by the peacock stories, but there is no need for him to bring those stories up. peacocks are mean creatures and noisy (really noisy) and their beauty doesn’t cancel out the meanness and noisiness. i don’t want peacocks.
fortunately for omar, we live in a rather quirky town (when it comes to government issues) and when the chicken issue came up a year or so ago, i had to agree with the anti-chickeners out there. our town has such a hard time (putting it nicely) with code enforcement that chickens would bring about a whole other level of craziness around here. we also have a pool and a concrete slab for a yard so unless there are floating chicken coops, there’s no room in the inn.
but did you know we’re in the market for a house? and on the days when we almost fly through a dozen eggs i think, “we need to move a few streets up into chicken-friendly territory.” a month or so ago we looked at possibly the most underwhelming house in the county, but the yard? huge (by city standards). with mango trees and shade and room for raised beds and chickens. the neighbors had bees and flowers and fruit trees and raised beds. it was tempting.
for now i’m striving to be content with where we are. we love our street and our neighborhood and our pool and there is the slightest possibility that maybe, just maybe, we could buy this place. and demo the guest cottage to make room for chickens.