I’m been thinking quite a bit lately about chickens. This, no doubt, is what happens to the elderly when they lose touch with real things like jobs and politics.
I don’t believe I could keep them here in my residential neighborhood. It would probably run afoul of the zoning or historic district or something. And I’m not sure I want the actual responsibility. What would happen to my Silkies or Rhode Island Reds while I was traveling to visit friends and relatives. Assuming I still have any of either after I start raising chickens.
And, of course, they do smell. I don’t mind it but you can never be sure what might bother the neighbors.
The trouble seems to be that I am genetically predisposed to raise chickens. I have a terrible urge to buy a non-running, yellow school bus and haul it to my side yard to be placed on blocks and raise the chickens there. I know. That would definitely get me in deep with the neighbors and the zoning guys and the historic house ladies.
The historic house ladies go to court each December to get a cease and desist order because of my Christmas lights and various lawn decorations. Again, my heritage requires blinking, multi-colored lights in copious amounts including on metal silhouettes of deer and sleighs and Santas and Christmas trees. We are supposed to refrain from all this and just have a candle in each window with a white, non-blinking light.
I do try but dared if I don’t fall off the white light wagon sometime early in December every year. About a week later the official looking envelope arrives pointing out the error of my ways and instructing me to remove all this unsightly blight in 30 days which is always just about when I would be taking it all down anyway so it is a win, win for all concerned.
But back to chickens….
