This is something only Gary Larson could have imagined. It is a cartoon he might come out of retirement to draw.
A trench coated individual is standing at a major intersection in a major city. As the cars come to a halt at the red light, he sidles up to the driver's window, whips open the coat to display its bulging contents and says, "Psst! Hey, wanna buy a live chicken?"
I am not exaggerating. Read this. The current chic (pun intended) contraband in urban settings is the chicken. There are anti chicken city ordinances that have been rescinded in some places, but not others, for example, Washington, DC. So, some folks, addicted to fresh eggs from happy hens, must resort to illegal possession of poultry.
I miss the rooster crow that awakened us for 17 years here at Iron Acres. The chickens are all gone, but I am seriously thinking about starting another flock later this summer. There is nothing like the sound of a contented hen clucking, or the taste of a fresh egg.
(Yes, Virginia, eggs do come in more colors than white. Many more colors than white!)
I suppose that is another reason country living appeals to me. I can enjoy the crowing, the clucking, and those wonderful fresh eggs without breaking the law.
The only foul play at Iron Acres will be fowl at play.
(Sorry, couldn't resist that one. *wink*)