I had to get some extra keys made for Doright Manor yesterday, so I drove over to Home Depot in Tallahassee. After paying for the keys I wandered in the direction of the garden section to dream about plants I could buy and eventually kill. I don’t exactly murder plants, but those in my care don’t have much of a chance at longevity.
Before I made it to the plants, though, I found this beauty.
It’s a double decker chicken coop, and the moment I saw it I fell in love with the idea of having a couple of chickens.
I’d name them Laverne and Shirley and I’d watch the pair strut around their little coop, clucking contentedly. I’d read to them excerpts from The Little Red Hen, and Chicken Little. I’d sing “The Farmer in the Dell,” and make up other songs featuring chickens. “Oh Chicken, My Chicken” comes to mind as a possible title. We’d be so happy in our bucolic paradise.
But reality set in and I knew I’d end up resenting Lavern and Shirley. They’d be dependent on me, insisting that I stay home and clean the coop when I wanted to go to a movie or for a spa day. Their once charming clucking would soon seem strident and accusatory.
“You never take us anywhere!” They’d complain. And they’d be right. Chickens just aren’t good shopping companions.
So I shook off the idea of chicken ownership and went on back to the plants. So, do I want to eventually kill a ficus or a rose bush? Decisions, decisions.