Pluck 'n Cluck

Dallas is my home. I grew up in Irving and moved into the city after high school and it is always the familiar base of operation I return to when I am faced with the task of reinventing myself due to desire or necessity of circumstance. This seems to happen more often than I would like – this process of jump-starting my life. For the past four years I have been living and working in small towns writing for community newspapers. In an industry struggling to stay afloat, change is inevitable.

So I find myself back in Big D basking in familiar surroundings – the house, the tree lined streets with the same potholes.  The dips ad dangerous curves that would surprise those less familiar are obstacles I easily navigate as if I had never ventured away. But there are changes. The neighborhood is dotted with enormous castle-like structures that resemble Fox and Jacobs track houses on a grander scale, that have replaced lovely Austin stone homes with screened porches and breezeways. Towering oak and pecan trees have given way to spindly new offerings that will not provide a shady respite to the brutal summer heat for another decade or so. Change is to be expected and while traffic is still awful and drivers are still rude, what I find most puzzling are the chickens in the backyards of these opulent displays of wealth and questionable taste.

I knew the chicken thing was a blossoming fad with urban dwellers; still the clucking and pecking coming from the neighbor’s backyard surprised me as I enjoyed my coffee of the back porch after moving in. I heard about the onslaught of Range Rovers and Hummers flocking to the rural community in early spring to select exotic varieties of chicks from local farms and breeders. While it may have been the subject of more than a few chuckles from the more countrified folk, I imagine any dollars would be a welcome boost to the local economy. And apparently these transient visitors were definitely willing to shell it out.

Not all that long ago, the possession of any farm animals within the city limits, much less in the upscale neighborhoods would have been swiftly dealt with. Owners of exclusive high dollar properties frowned at the prospect of Ma and Pa Kettle living next door and the city takes exception to alienating payers of exorbitant property taxes.

But even if I hadn’t heard the chickens, I suspected they were there because of the fox lurking on my side of the fence. Poultry attracts predators looking for a tasty morsel. In the country, coyotes are the most common wild culprit – and snakes. In the city, especially near the lake at the very least raccoons and possums will likely venture over to snag an egg or two for a late night snack.

Still I can’t help but wonder what will happen to the floundering fowl when the novelty wears off. Recall the potbellied pig fad. Once the fun faded or the creatures became too large or burdensome to be manageable, the dilemma was where to discard it. We are a disposable society with a short attention span and an affinity for impulse buying. What often begins as an interactive lesson in nature for the children and a source of organic sustenance just becomes another chore, when our lives are so jam-packed with other obligations. The chickens fall further down the priority list trumped by nail appointments and play dates and who really wants to clean the chicken pen and gather eggs with freshly manicured nails.

I have written stories on all types of animal rescue organizations, dogs, feral cats, horses, donkeys, even pigs. So I wonder who will take on the chickens. Perhaps locations will be set up as “safe” places like there are at schools and fire stations to drop unwanted children. The icon would be a chicken cradled in a basket wrapped in a soft warm blanket to protect it from the cold to be dropped anonymously under the cover of night. Or perhaps the local chicken shack will throw open the back doors for receiving before sending it through the front with the option for original or extra crispy.

I have no vendetta against poultry. But I do recall the fate of the colorfully dyed chicks ad ducks that filled dime-store widows every spring. And as a parent the desire to provide a lesson in nature and responsibility to my children that quickly became my unwelcome additional chore before running out the door for work or school when the infatuation faded with the gerbils, hamsters, fish and hermit crabs that were as easily disregarded as the latest action figure or Cabbage Patch doll thrown in the bottom of the closet.