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.