THERE'S something about chickens that just makes people laugh. Maybe it's the silly way they walk or the endless supply of jokes and egg puns, or maybe it's the fun of watching their tiny brains try to figure out what's going on around them. Maybe it's because for us city people, a real live chicken is something of a novelty act.
When these daft creatures become the subject of government debate, it's tempting to think our public figures have become birdbrains themselves. In Vancouver, the NPA tried unsuccessfully to win a civic election by mocking Mayor Gregor Robertson's penchant for promoting personal poultry.
So hats off to the City of North Vancouver's councillors, who managed to enjoy some levity - they were being lobbied by a group called CLUCK, after all - but still made the sensible decision to move forward with a prochicken bylaw.
Keeping chickens or bees in your backyard is still largely seen as an oddball hobby, the province of ecoeccentrics. But not too many years ago, so was recycling. It's strange that having a few egg-layers seems so peculiar given that well within living memory, it was a commonplace way to put food on the table.
Raising livestock takes work, so don't expect to see a coop in every yard any time soon. But for a modest investment and minimal operating costs, a small flock of chickens can turn table scraps into the makings of a world-class omelet, and give you a few giggles along the way.
Surely that's worth getting eggcited about.
