This Weekend, a Chance to Peep at the Coot. Oh, Wait, Sorry. That's "Coop."

I'm on tour Sunday. Well, I'm not on tour. My wife is on tour -- part of the first annual "A Peep at the Coops: The Urban Coop Tour." I just work there. Actually, a guy named Victor works for my wife a lot in the garden, and then I work for Victor.

My wife's new chicken coop, which I built for Victor for my wife, is part of the tour. Ironic that it falls on a week when my own publication has a cover illustration of a chicken undergoing Abu Ghraib-style electrical torture. But I'm not entirely sure my wife reads my publication, so it's O.K.

Patrick Williams, managing editor of my publication, apparently saw my wife's column in another publication this week talking about the tour, because yesterday he e-mailed me asking if I knew of a place where he could rent a Colonel Sanders costume.

It went right over my head. I told him I would look into it. I was thinking, "Management! Now it's my job to go find this guy a Colonel Sanders suit." But he explained the joke.

Well, excuuuuuse me if I'm a little short on sense of humor this week where the damn chicken coop is concerned. I've only been working on it for six months. In order to build it, I had to cut a third off the end of my own tool shed, which is sort of like ... well, let's not get too graphic about it. It wasn't fun.

The decoration part was not up to me, as you will see by the little antique Frenchified sign in the picture. I believe it's pronounced pooh-lay. I can tell you, that is indeed what they do, which gets into the other part of my job for Victor around here.

Plus, I get heckled and ridiculed for not speaking Spanish. Look at the picture. Do you see a big smile on my face about this stuff?

So the tour is Sunday, 11 a.m. to 5 p.m. with a rain-out date of April 25. Tour headquarters is 8176 Barbaree Blvd. It's free, but they will encourage you to leave a will in which you put your entire estate into a trust for the chickens. I bet.

You can find out more here.

I have to go now. I need to polish my pitch fork so Victor won't fire me. He's death on dirty tools.

We use cookies to collect and analyze information on site performance and usage, and to enhance and customize content and advertisements. By clicking 'X' or continuing to use the site, you agree to allow cookies to be placed. To find out more, visit our cookies policy and our privacy policy.


Join the Observer community and help support independent local journalism in Dallas.


Join the Observer community and help support independent local journalism in Dallas.