It some parts of the country it’s fashionable to have a chicken coop.
I am fashionable these days, because I do indeed have a chicken coop.
Actually I inherited said chicken coop from my Mother, who once we got the farm, did nothing but talk about fresh eggs and her longing to have said fresh eggs at her whim and whimsy. Which meant she, or we rather, would have to build a chicken coop, supply the chickens, and then stand back and watch her gather.
We are good children . She got her chicken coop. She then promptly decided that after eating eggs for most every morning of her 70 some odd years, she no longer found them appealing. At all.
So me, having been indoctrinated on the dirtiness of chickens in general (by my father who excelled in indoctrination) became the chicken coop beneficiary, even if it was something I never wanted, had any intention of running, or could cross off any bucket list I have ever generated. (In fact, in might have been on the ‘I never want to do this” bucket list, should I have ever made one of those.)
Let’s speak a minute about chickens and dirty.
You realize this is legendary fact, this idea of dirtiness in chickens, evidenced by how