My first chickens were the product of my husband’s boredom. Jobless at the time, he spent the mornings scouring the Internet gainful employment; in the afternoon he would hang out with our retired neighbor, Johnny. Johnny somehow convinced Scott that I would like a pair of roosters (One of my favorite people of all time, Johnny must have experienced a deliciously wicked amusement. We were city folk, after all).

Little did Scott or Johnny realize, they created a monster (in me). I fell in love with my new boys,  Coco and Rico, and chickens are like crack, I needed more. At its zenith, my hobby coop had 35+ residents, but it all started with two roosters in an exposed dog pen, sleeping on a tree branch at night. Looking back, I have no idea how two stark white, tasty pieces chicken escaped a predator’s notice. But, within a month Scott built a proper coop that we nicknamed “Gibraltar” for its predator proof-ed-ness.