Chicken Fight: Final Round

Well, tonight's the night . . . but not in the way Rod Stewart meant.

Tonight is the night the City Council will debate and vote on the proposed chicken ban in our city. 

All letters have been filed.

Petitions have been foraged.  (okay, maybe not foraged, but I suspect the signors are not real)

Pleas have been made.

I have to tell you. . . we have really debated even going.  I don't know how much longer I can be nice and sit there and stand in line to pretend to beg humbly to do what I want on my own darned property. 

It is not against the law.

It is not hurting anyone.   

And who are these five people who may decide that it is anyway?! 

I feel a Norma Ray moment coming on if they don't knock it off soon.

All Complaints Heard Here

 
My posts this week have been weak, I know.  I have been struggling for much good to expand on.  Not to say that there is no good, but I can't seem to get it to take up as much space in my mind as all my gripes.

So I address my post today to the complaint department.  Feel free to add.  Once they have all been compiled, I will print them out and flush them down the toilet . . . that is where most complaints end up, isn't it?

1.  I bought the paint weeks ago.  I gathered the supplies.  They have been sitting in the mudroom all this time . . . why has the mudroom still not painted itself?

2.  Why is my littlest chicken the loudest, and why does she sound like a seagull?  I think she knows it irritates the already irritated neighbors, which I can respect, actually.

3.  How am I supposed to feel about the kid I have been chauffeuring to school and back all week, the one who put the hole in my kitchen wall, the one who slapped my son at school yesterday?  I know he is worried about his mother, but still??

4.  Why are my parents so weird?  No.  Seriously.

5.  Why can't my husband read my mind?  I suspect he can, but chooses not to.   

6.  And why did Boston Rob get voted off Survivor so early?

7.  Why is the nature camp I wanted to sign my son up for this summer already booked?  No one seems to know what they're doing tomorrow, so how did this one week in July fill up so fast?

8.  How is it my kids are growing up so fast?  What happened to those toddler days and why can't I have a do-over?

9.  Why are they always out of the raspberry white tea I like at the grocery store?

10.  And why do I have to carry all these annoying little cards on my key chain in order to get a fair price at grocery stores now?  Doesn't the fact that I took the time to visit their establishment count for anything anymore?

11.  Why can't the post office give people packing tape if they need it?  Honestly.  Do you ever leave the post office without muttering under your breath?

12.  What is that mark on the wall in my kitchen and how did it get up so high?

13.  Why do my dogs insist on eating birdseed?

14.  And how do I keep my little dog from ransacking the grill in order to lick the grease tray?

15.  Why do people call my cell phone if my home phone is busy?

16.  Why are greeting cards so expensive, and why is it required that we send them?

17.  Why, when I turn the heat on in the van, does the a/c come on and why must I run said a/c in order for the heat to work in the back?  Do you know how terrible this is?

18.  Who puts all this stuff all over my house, and when are they going to pick it up?

19.  Why is my son always out of socks, but there are never any in the laundry?

20.  Why am I stuck in this rut and so weighed down by small things lately?

Alright, that about covers it . . . most of it, anyway . . .

What did I miss?

Chicken Fights On

The saga continues.

Last Monday, when we returned home after the city council meeting, there was a message on our answering machine from a reporter for the local paper. He had been watching the proceedings on television and now felt compelled to write a feature on it. He wanted to come out the next morning -- at dawn -- to get some pictures of the chickens, their coop, and our family.

Now. You chicken owners who are experiencing the end of winter know, things are not in tip-top shape out there right now. They are, of course, good enough to keep the chickens happy and healthy, but to someone with a critical eye, it might not be idyllic. So I, my husband, and my son were up and out there before dawn cleaning and sprucing up. The hens slept right through it. (Try that with a dog!)

The sun came up, the reporter came, and took many pictures and asked many questions. By the time he'd left, he'd been charmed, a bit, by the lovely little girls eating out of my kids' hands and seemingly posing for pictures. As he left, we teased and chided that he should write an opinion piece (in favor of city chickens). He explained that he just may do that, if and when the city would find against keeping chickens.

The paper arrived last evening. The front page sports a huge picture of my son feeding the chickens:

 Now, who can resent this?

As thrilling as it was to see our story on the front page, I can't believe how things are so quickly getting big and loud and out of control.  

Anyway, my next step is to research the impact of chicken keeping on property values of neighboring properties.  We have 10 days to submit additional items to be considered in this matter.  I intend to do just that.

But the thing that keeps ringing in my head is the right of the individual.  I am not breaking any laws, rules, or regulations.  There are no neighborhood rules against this.  I happen to have on obsessive neighbor who has been mad at me for years.  And so I am put in the position of having to beg and plead for the ability to do what I want on my property.  

My property.  

Chicken Fight

Do you realize I am intolerable?  Yes, yes.  And I am single-handedly wrecking home values and bringing disease to millions.  And I'm just generally icky.  Yes, you wouldn't believe the things I do.   

I . . . I . . . keep chickens. 

Last night, we attended a city council hearing on the keeping of chickens in my city. Currently, up to six hens are allowed, no roosters. Apparently, all it takes is one ridiculous citizen.  (No, not me.)  

My ridiculous, complaining neighbor found a couple of realtors to come to the hearing with her. They stood up and spoke about how backyard chickens will diminish home values and, therefore, should be banned. My neighbor, herself, waxed hysterical about salmonella run-off from our property, rabid animals being attracted, and just general "ickiness."

My husband and I sat there waiting to speak, feeling defeated and mischaracterized. Then, one by one, people began to file into the hearing room. First, a woman carrying an egg carton. Then someone with a basket full of eggs. Then a mother and son, both wearing bright yellow shirts saying: Poultry Club. Slowly, these people filled up the room. When it came time to speak, they formed a line behind the podium and took turns speaking for the next 90 minutes. We spoke as well. It was heartening to see so many people there to support us and the concept of pet chickens. The council will make their decision next month.

Either way, we will be able to keep our chickens due to a grandfathering clause. But that's not the point.

Whatever happened to "live and let live?" Whatever happened to neighborliness? How about kindness? What about tolerance? Or is that reserved only for the most violent among us?

One woman displayed a painting by her teenage son and read his accompanying poem. And then she expressed my sentiments perfectly. "We're all different. Of course we're going to step on each other's toes sometimes. Of course there is going to be something about me that may make your eyes roll. But we're all people. We live together and we live life together. Our differences are what make life interesting. Let's stop trying to make everyone the same."

I don't know what is becoming of the traditional individual. It seems to me we are all for diversity when it involves something very new, something never before tolerated, and that's great. But where is the tolerance for the more traditional among us? It seems those people are being asked to give over the things we most enjoy and hold dear and that ask far less of society in general.

Chickens? Chickens as pets? That's where we draw the line, I guess.

I would be discouraged, but for the amazing support of our local poultry club. They were prepared, eloquent, and impressive. Chicken keepers . . . articulate. Who'da thunk it?

She also regularly complains about laundry being hung out on the line.

Just try to take my clothespins, Honey!

Speaking Of . . .

I'm out of sorts with all sorts things on my mind . . .

I just sent my son upstairs for the rest of his life, or at least until supper, whichever comes first.  Judging by my current mood, it's a toss up which will occur first.  I tend to lose my appetite when I'm angry, which makes me wonder why I'm not down to 80 lbs by now.

Speaking of bodies . . .

From the "I Guess It Was Formica I Knocked On" file, I now am nursing a pinched nerve.  As soon as I published the last post (on getting on with my life and leaving the body stuff to my body), I started to feel the beginnings of a pinched nerve.  After a year of not feeling up to par, I have become a rather impatient patient.

Speaking of patience . . .

My house is a mess.  Why is it that when I am feeling well enough to clean it, the mess doesn't bother me, but the moment I am not up to cleaning it, it is my fervent wish to do so?

Speaking of laziness . . .

I have the chance to enroll my son, the one upstairs for the rest of his life, in a little 2-hour lesson in harvesting sap from maple trees (to make into syrup) this Sunday.  I have considered enrolling him, but am not sure he won't be mugging our two maples trees from now on.  So I am leaning against it, yet feeling like a lazy mother for doing so.

Speaking more about laziness . . . 

Remember the mudroom project?  Me neither . . . except when I try to find something or pass through the family room (which now holds all the things evacuated from said mudroom), or do laundry.

And . . .

Do you think McDonald's Filet-O-Fish really qualify as a legitimate Lenten Friday meal?  I don't.  The other equal in my household does.  I can only hold out so long.  This is going on my List (the List St. Peter checks at the pearly gates), I know it, and suspect it is my husband's plan for getting away from me sometime before the here'after.  

Speaking of real men . . .

Why haven't I ever seen a Robert Mitchum movie until now?  And why aren't there more men like that in Hollywood anymore?

Speaking of movie mysteries . . .

 

Why is Leonardo DiCaprio slated to play Frank Sinatra in the long-awaited Scorsese film when it is quite obvious to me that Jude Law would make a much better "Ole Blue Eyes?"  I guess this would go in the "If You Want Something Done Right" file.

Well, my husband has arrived home with a McDonald's bag the size of a shopping bag.  Guess it's time to call my son down . . .

10 Things That Really Bug Me

I see many blogs are starting out the year on a good note and posting lots of lovely lists and pretty things.  And I've been really enjoying reading and posting the like.

However.

There is another side of me, too.  And it ain't all sunshine.  In fact, I can be quite a grumbler.  And, actually, it works for me.  Once I get something off my chest, I usually feel better.

So I challenge anyone who makes it to the bottom of my list, to write their own list, should they desire.  (I will not actually tag anyone to do it, though, because I know some people try very hard to remain positive.)

10 Things That Really Bug Me
(I'll keep it to 10 as long as you understand there are plenty more where that came from.)

1.  When I end up thanking the rude salesperson who merely shoves my purchases at me with a grunt.

2.  People who do not cover their mouths when they sneeze.  (No, turning away does not count.)

3.  Yellow crocus flowers.  (Face it, they look like weeds.)

4.  Earthquakes . . . especially when they take from people who already had nothing.

5.  Martha Stewart.

6.  People sitting in the right-hand turn lane when they plan to go straight and thereby hold legions of right-hand turners behind them hostage all through a red light.

7.  People who walk through the door you held open waiting for them to grab, not walk through.

8.  How ridiculously expensive any and all toys are now.

9.  That I never, ever, seem to have a pen in my purse.

10.  Spiders.

Yep, that's right.  There they are.

Now, I certainly know there are worse things in life, but listing those could put me, and perhaps many of you, into a major funk -- if not worse -- for days.

No, I'm just sticking to those little chips on my shoulder . . .

For now.