Say What? Chicken Butt.

So I'm driving along the road yesterday, en route to getting my hurriedly reinflated tire patched up by the tire guys (if there is a nail within 20 miles of my home, I will drive over it.  It's a talent I have.), when I catch a blur of movement out of the corner of my eye and look over at the yard of one of the pricey McMansions that have recently begun sprouting in our rural burg.

There, strutting serenely along inside the wrought-iron fencing of the $500,000 home, is a rooster.  A pretty big one, too.  I managed not to wreck the car, but I did have a WTF moment.  Perhaps no one has told this person, but roosters?  Not really cuddly pets.  Plus, they're loud.  And chicken poop is really, really foul - no pun intended.

I was all set to chalk this up as a random "country-folk make good, still keep in touch with their roots - welcome to Johnston County" experience, until I read this article about a therapy rooster named Mr. Joy. 

And then I remembered the local "trend story" last week about the urban chicken-keeping fundraising event.

Oh, brother.  I see the beginnings of a trend.  On the plus side, I see a surplus of cheap eggs and chicken meat in my future when this trend goes the way of the pot-bellied pig.  On the minus side - I'm not a morning person, and I'm doubtful that Mr. Rooster will be able to keep his voice down.