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June 01, 2008

I think it's rather brave, actually.

I've been campaigning for chickens.  Dave is resistant, but I have this glorious vision of fluffy, fat, happy, cage-free laying hens strutting and clucking around our wee backyard.  Of course the vision includes me stepping out onto the back steps and scattering handfuls of chicken scratch pulled up from the gathered folds of my skirts.  And petticoats and and pinafore, etc.

Dave raised the dual concerns of (1) the smell of chicken poop; and (2) the very real possibility that the Little Ninja would make sport of chasing down and slaughtering the hens.

I countered with promises of farm fresh eggs to enhance his cooking.  I postulated that Ginger could be taught to love her feathered buddies.  I researched urban coops and obtained useful ideals from trusted poultry counsel.

I thought I was making headway.  And then yesterday we were listening to the local LA NPR food show (GOOD FOOD, which we adore and which must certainly be the model for Delicious Dish.)

Schweatty balls









Host Evan Kleiman had a guest who spoke of the glories of raising chickens in her Eagle Rock/South Pasadena backyard. 

AHA!  I did a jubilant boogie.  I had Dave now - we were going to learn just how easy it was to raise chickens in LA, and just how rewarding a pursuit it would be.

And while we did learn those very things, victory ultimately eluded me.  See, the chicken lady laid (no pun intended) out the city rules for backyard chickens.  Turns out, they have to be at least 20 feet from your house, and a minimum of 40 feet from any neighbor's house.  That aforementioned wee yard?  Just doesn't provide sufficient distance for legal birds.  So sad.

I thought about just going for it and keeping ordnance-violating hens, but I'm just too

(wait for it)

chicken.

BAWK BAWK!

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Comments

Maybe you could keep quail.

A timely topic. Check out another ode to raising chickens at http://chanfles.com/blog/?p=833

I hate to do it, and it's moot now anyway, but I think I agree with Dave... the smell alone would be fowl!

(nyuck, nyuck, nyuck)

YUCK!!!

I grew up on a farm with NO CHICKENS because they are NASTY and my mother was (I swear, this is the truth) horrifically attacked by a rooster when she was three. It would jump up on her back and peck her and my grandfather didn't believe her until he saw it and then he immediately killed it and they probably ate it for dinner. Hey, life on a farm is like that...intense... Anyway, the point is chickens are nasty and disgusting and can be mean and WHY? WHY? WHY? would you raise them when you can buy them for a couple of dollars in the store?!

And that is my rant!

I think it's a total bummer about the 20/40 foot requirement.

Here's some photos of chicken tractors like we were talking about:

http://home.centurytel.net/thecitychicken/tractors.html

Your readers can view their local laws at the same web site:

http://home.centurytel.net/thecitychicken/chickenlaws.html

Very helpful!

I think you make some good points, but as a former egg gatherer, I have to say:

Chickens are not nice. At all. Period. My older brother and I had to gather the eggs when we were small (he was 5, I was 4) and they would peck at us. One day, in the winter as it turns out, my brother got very mad at the chickens and broke one of the windows in the chicken house. In the winter. In Saskatchewan. In the winter. Then he blamed me, but that's a whole 'nother story...

We were punished but years later my mom told us how much she had hated the chickens and how happy she was to see them made into chickensicles.

We currently have a visiting, wild peacock who's hanging our back yard most of the day. Not sure where it goes at sundown after it flies up on our roof and walks down the street. But its poop is huge and plentiful. Be grateful you did not go with the chickens.

I used to live behind my landlady, Mary, over a garage. The neighbors across the street used to have chickens. The hens and rooster used to cross the street regularly to shit and pee in Mary's front yard. I used to tell her, "Why did the chicken cross the road? To mess with Mary." Her daughter put a stop to it when she showed up at the neighbor's with Mary's shotgun. I actually missed the rooster-alarm after that.

You are being henpecked!

Your readers are definitely taking the romance out of chicken raising.

Ba-dum-bum.

Sorry your chicken dreams went down in flames.

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