We have the coop. But where to place it on our backyard? Do we need foundation? How to prevent raccoons from getting in to the coop?

Kelton's excellent foundation drawing that is overwhelmingly detailed.

Our smart friend Kelton, who is an engineer, drew fabulous instructions how to build a raccoonproof foundation. The problem is:

I didn’t understand any of the instructions.

The drawing looks like a space ship plan for me (look at the picture – do you get it?) I don’t want my little chickens to go for a space ride!

Donna understood the instructions but she was too lazy to do all that work.

We decided to skip the foundation part because we want to get the chickens soon, which is – like everything in my life – now. Donna dug a huge hole in the backyard and hauled the coop to it.

The chicken coop in our backyard that resembles jungle.

The coop is under our neighbor’s apple tree. The chickens will get used to dropping round obstacles whenthe apple season is on. Maybe I’ll supply the chickens with isolating earphones.

Now we are ready for the chickens.

No chickens, only a lucky cat. My friend Tonxu has an obsession to take pictures of her lucky cat everywhere.

Turkey looking for a home. Cathy sent a picture from her iPhone.

Should we take a turkey instead of chickens? My friend Cathy saw an announcement about a turkey which is looking for a new home.

But to be frank, turkeys are ugly, whereas chickens are cute and sympathetic. Actually, I’m afraid of turkeys.

A neat chicken coop appeared in our backyard. It came by mail in thousand pieces without assembling instructions. It looked like a mission impossible: How to put the pieces together so that it ends up being a livable home for chickens?

I was wrestling my hands and cursing the chicken coop manufacturer. While I went upstairs to get more coffee, my housemate Donna assembled the coop. In a heartbeat. And she is even not of the Ikea-generation, nor is she Swedish.

Some people just have it, the skill for assembling and putting the right piece to its place. I can’t even match the right lid with the right Tupperware. How should I know when the lid just needs to be forced into its place, or whether the lid is a wrong one?

Thanks to Donna, we have an assembled neat little chicken home in our backyard. It is like a small bungalow.

It is a little step in the Mission, but a big step in our chicken project.

We? Our? Yes, the chicken project is not mine only. Actually, it is not mine at all. The idea is originally my housemate Donna’s, who is the best housemate ever.

She is as close to normal as anyone can be. And I am not, so we are a good match. We have something in common though: we like oatmeal. My oatmeal is drier than hers, but in the big scheme of things, it doesn’t really matter.

Why didn’t I mention Donna in the beginning? Because I’m an egotist. In this case, I guess, I had better say: Eggotist.

A friend of mine, Cathy, sent me this picture with a caption: You tending your chicken. First I thought this is funny. But then I had a second thought: Is she making fun of me?

However, I like the fact that the fashion store uses chicken in their window decoration. At least something there is fashionable.

I have a dream: I want chickens on my backyard. I live in the Mission, which is the best neighborhood for chickens in San Francisco. There’s a lot of sun and snails in my backyard, and not too many raccoons. As a cool bonus, there’s a nice lady with purple hair living next to us. And animal rescue people living below us.

Two chickens that my friends Ann and Kelton brought us to relieve the longing for real chickens.

Could a chicken ask for more?

If my dream comes true, I will be a part of the evolving eggriculture movement. Which, I of course, I want to be. For once, I want to be an early adapter. At least early-adapterish. (I guess I will not be the first one to have chickens in the Mission.)

I have never been in the forefront of new trends in the Mission. Just to prove that: I don’t have Cordarounds pants yet. I discovered the delicious Magic CurryKart only months after my neighbors. I don’t ride any those elegant vintage bikes that makes the rider look like from a movie from the 50’s. I just have a clumsy mountain bike.

Not to be hip is embarrassing. Especially in the Mission, which is a nursery for many Silicon Valley success stories, and thus, home for hip people. To be somebody in this neighborhood, I need the chickens.