Henrietta stares balefully at me from her perch next to my printer. I think she knows I’m writing about her and her feathered friends. Last month, I wrote a column about my husband’s previously unexpressed longing to be a chicken-owner. I believe I may have vowed to fly the coop if Derek brought home any poultry. Turns out he didn’t have to. A few weeks ago I opened a package from columnist Stefanie Pettit. It contained a wobbly rubber chicken. It’s not every day you get a chicken in the mail. The enclosed note read, “In light of your reticence to get live chickens, I thought I’d send you this rubber chicken instead, so you can contemplate the idea further with a replica in the house. Just squeeze in the middle and out comes the most disgusting egg you’ve ever seen.” ... I never promised a chicken in every column, but Stefanie’s gift prompted me to share the reader feedback I received. Let this serve as a cautionary tale, especially because the City Council adopted an urban farming ordinance in March/Cindy Hval, SR Front Porch. More here.

Question: Forget chickens. Would you want a pig, goat or other small livestock in you backyard? How about in your neighbor's yard?