the Godfather of 10th West

Right before dinner there was a knock at the door. It was one of the more elusive neighbors of 10th. A middle aged woman living down the street alone, minus the goat & the horse, in not 1 but 2 historical houses. 

She came in and sat down on the edge of the sofa looking nervous. 

In her hand a large insulated cup filled with what looked to be very flat beer. "I'm sorry to bother you, Misty but we need your help. We need a favor". 

She explained that one our newer residents keeps calling animal control on the roosters. She and Mr. W. (we will get into Mr. W. in another post) are a bit fed up with it. 

I should note that no one really knows who chickens they are. All chickens on 10th free-rage. It is part of life here. These 2 neighbors have united to defend the roosters unlawful, but historic run of the place against the new guy. 


I gave her a few possible solutions and offered to speak with him if they wanted me to. Turns out that was precisely what they wanted. Mr. W. had said: when she gets talking, she could sell a man his own horse. Let's see what Misty can do...

So I walked my neighbor lady home then I wandered over to the new guy's house and knocked on the door. 

I watched him approach cautiously. Stepping outside, shutting his door behind him looking terrified. 

I'm pretty sure it is the same look I give the little old Korean woman every time she shows up to tell me what a good man BC is because "he not from Colorado". 

Anyway, there I was meeting him for the first time wearing what could described as my Medical School Drop-Out look: old levis, a grey U of U Medical School shirt cut into a tank top, flip-flops, and a ponytail. 

I introduced myself as his neighbor, apologized for not stopping by sooner, and let him know that as far a government agencies go, animal control is not very discrete. 

I was diplomatic. I was nice. I tried to be charming but that seemed to frighten him even more. 

I tried everything I could think of to put him at ease. Turns out psychology students living alone in the hood are very hard to calm down.

I explained that I was asked to stop by to help resolve the issue, sort of like a neighborhood rep. I had heard the other side, I wanted to hear his. And I wanted to know what exactly he would like to see happen. 

His defense was long. It involved sleep issues, him talking about himself in third person, the preposterous idea of caging all of them, and vegetarianism. Well, I suppose that at least explains why he doesn't just run them over like the rest of us do.  

He used the word quaint a lot. And I got the feeling he bought this particular house because it was a notable, semi-famous green/small building home. 

Yes, but Dude the news piece on your house opened with a crowing rooster in it. And the Trib story had photos of the chickens all over your yard. You can't have driven down 10th with your eyes shut. 

I explained why the roosters were crowing so often. Told him if there were less of them, they would settle down. He seemed bewildered by my nature tutorial.  

I let him know that for the cost of a few beers I knew a guy who could make a couple of them disappear.

He liked the idea of them dying, but if dying didn't work he wanted them all locked away- forever in tiny cages. 

He must be some new kind of vegetarian. I have friends who are vegetarians and they don't sound anything like this guy. They seem to be more pro-life than cock-in-a-box fans.  

He cautiously reminded me that after all roosters are illegal in the city.

Actually, that is a grey-area on a street with horse properties that are grandfathered in... and we don't want it to become black & white. That's not how we roll.

I made a proactive suggestion: garden hose.

Turns out he has thought of trying to get them to leave him alone but he is afraid of them because "they are wild animals". 

Squirt gun?

Now, I want full credit for suppressing the laughter that went with the mental picture I had of him in some corner of his yard trapped by a chicken. 

I was handling it but then somehow his cat got out... and there was this young, good looking guy, bent over squealing like Pee Wee Herman chasing a cat because (of course) it is not an outside pussy. 

I couldn't help it. And alternatively named "cat" & "rooster" jokes piling up in my head weren't helping. I started to crack-up and had to quickly end our conversion. So I made him an offer.
       
We agreed I would have my guys knock off a few chatty roosters and he would stop calling Johnny Law every time a chicken crossed the road. 

Now I know he won't keep his end of the bargain. It's okay, I've already called in reinforcements. I got people...