Bok bok bok

Many years ago, a friend of a friend, living in Elsternwick, had in her yard, the most magical chicken coop in the world.  It was straight out of a cartoon: a mini house, all wonky and riddled with quirk, painted in bright primary colours, with a ramp to the front door for the ornamental orientals to parade home at the close of the day.


It represents, in my minds eye, the pinnacle when it comes to poultry housing. (I wish I had a picture.)   It also sadly represents the apex of foul, fowl tragedy.  As one evening, arriving home on the tail of the setting sun, Janet found that a fox had done his worst and ravaged the population.


I don't know if she ever recovered.


It seems that Porter Street, too, must've been home to chickens in days gone by.  The abandoned structure at the bottom of the garden, however, embodies none of the charm of the coop of which I've spoken.  Rather than Disney, it summons to mind pure eastern bloc utilitarianism.  

But that's not to say it doesn't have potential.  And who's to say that chooks don't actually prefer the more minimal and rustic aesthetic...