I've got myself a purty bad hankerin' for chicken.
I mean, chickens.
I want to raise some chickens of my very own.
I've been looking at plans for chicken tractors.
I've been looking at Araucana chickens and their beautiful eggs.
I've been talking to Prince Charming about the wonders of being chicken owners and hunting for Easter eggs every day of the year.
Prince Charming, however, has been talking to City Hall.
"It is against City ordinance to keep 'livestock' within City limits on property which is less than one acre in size."
It's also against City ordinance to jog with your earphones in.
Why, oh why, isn't he more careful about who he talks to?
It put me right out of fellowship when he told me that bit about the livestock.
And then I told my sad tale to my Chicken-Raising Seester (who does not live in the City).
Guess what she did?
She went to the feed store.
She heard, "Cheep, cheep, cheep."
She bought some Aracauna chicks.
And she told me they are mine, all mine.
I haven't gotten to meet them yet.
But she sent me pictures.
This one said, "Are you my mudder?"
And this one said, "Look how well their eye makeup is done!"
So I got to looking at that black eyeliner.
And their names came to me just like that.
Alice.
Amy.
Marilyn.
And Tammy Faye.
You know.
Cooper.
Winehouse.
Manson.
And Baker.
I can't wait to meet them.
I think I'll plug my earphones into my Ipod and jog over there.