Smooth Criminal

As long-time readers know, I've wanted my own chickens for a very, very long time now.

I've read books.

I've given foster chickens to my aunt.

I've drooled over coop designs.

I've scoured magazines.

I've watched documentaries.

I've plotted and schemed and finally, finally my time is here.

Chad's agreed that we can get chickens.

I'll pause while you all cheer.

There are two teeny, tiny nearly inconsequential things standing in my way.

1.) Our yard is on the very small size.

2.) Our HOA forbids chickens.

Minor details.

The first is being solved by only getting two chickens. We'll be able to get a small coop that will fit nicely either next to our fountain or in the corner of our fence. So now the coop searching begins in earnest. I've narrowed it down to two...so far.

Either my dream coop:

Or it's second (or is it fourth?) cousin:

As for the second minor detail, I've solved it by sleeping with the HOA president.

Stop it! C'mon now. Chad's the president. Geesh, people. I want chickens but not enough for an Indecent Proposal.

The way I figure it, if the owners four doors down can rent their place to a drug dealer, I can have my chickens.

Besides, I kinda like being involved in the Underground Chicken Movement. It makes me feel rebellious. I feel like I need a leather jacket and a motorcycle.