C: I was reading an article in SW Airlines Spirit magazine & I think we should raise some chickens.
ME: Aren't we? Two of them finally quit clucking an hour ago.
C: Real chickens.
ME: Here? On Waverly Drive? In the middle of Little Rock?
C: Yes. You can build a chicken coop for around $100 dollars.
ME: You can do a lot of things for around $100 but that doesn't mean I want you to. No chickens. Why in the hell do we need chickens?
C: So we can have eggs.
ME: We have eggs. Perfectly good eggs.
C: But they aren't OURS.
ME: I paid for them at Kroger. They are most certainly ours.
C: But wouldn't it be nice to just go out and get them in the backyard? We could just gather them and bring them in and they would be all nice and not even cracked.
ME: No. No, it would not. That's why styrofoam was invented. If I were a betting woman & someone had me put $30 on the chances of an egg in a styrofoam carton making it to Little Rock via I-40, in a semi, from a dairy in Knoxville, completely unscathed OR the chances of you carrying a basket of eggs up our deck stairs without tripping, I'm gonna go with the Tennessee trucker every time.
C: It would be fun. The kids could help.
ME: Really? The kids could help? Ryder's gonna clean out the chicken coop? Wyatt's your only hope. And that's a stretch. Remember Apollo? How good they are to help with him?
C: Night.
ME: Night.
I'll have to draw a diagram for you to understand where the house is but there's a house just a few doors down with chickens running loose in the yard. We're 1/2 a mile from downtown and yet I've almost killed chickens crossing the road in my neighborhood at least twice in the last week. It's a romantic idea, raising chickens. I get his thinking. But it's a good thing one of you is a realist. Chicken crap is uber nasty and so are chickens. Miss you...
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