Chickens, Asses and Garage Doors

There are chickens in my garage.

There are six of them.  They are young.  And they are in a cardboard box.

My wife Staci put them there.  I do not know what she is doing.  I fear it’s some strange, middle-age thing.  I will have to buy a medical book and see if women who turn forty start collecting chickens in their garage.

All  I know right now is this:  It is disorienting to be confronted by live chickens when you leave the house in the morning.  Granted, they are in a box and they are small.  But I know they are watching me.

And it’s a bad sign.

A bad sign because when we first got married, there was romance in our lives.  Now there is livestock in our garage.

I do not want to open the garage door tomorrow.  I fear I’ll find a donkey.

I bring all this up now because this morning I backed into the garage door.  Hit it with my car as I was driving out.  I’ve never done that before.

I am certain it was the fault of the chickens.  I think one of those chicks flew across the garage as I backing out and pushed the little garage door button on the wall.  Probably showing off.  I’m sure it got a big laugh from the other chicks.

Staci’s claiming chickens can’t fly.  So I looked it up on Wikipedia and it says they can fly, just not long distances.  Now we’re debating whether the distance from the front of our garage to the back is a “long distance.”

This afternoon we fought over it.  I yelled the line from above about finding a donkey when I walk into the garage tomorrow.  She replied, “Then we’d have two asses in the garage.”

That was a pretty good line.

Next week’s our anniversary.

I think I’ll buy her a garage door.

44 thoughts on “Chickens, Asses and Garage Doors

  1. I just read this out loud to husband, Bill. We were in hysteria – thanks!

    Love to you and your family (Staci sounds like a riot!)


    If you’ve never read this blogger, I think you should. Her name is Jenny, she’s absolutely hilarious, and her writing style is very similar to yours. Staci also sounds a bit like her husband, Victor.

  3. Mr. Pastis, sir, perhaps this is not a middle age crisis but, revenge for being unable to find the metal brackets for the filing cabinets?
    However, if you do get extremely tired of this chicks, then perhaps you should consider selling them to KFC? Kentucky Grilled Chicken is all the rage now….
    Btw, about the garage door, that reminds me of the PBS strip where Rat crushes the sea anenome with the garage door…..repeat performance, perhaps for the chickens?

  4. Hooray! urban chickens incoming!

    We’ve had two chickens in our backyard (read about it at for the last two years. Believe me, once you have that first fresh egg, you’ll forgive them for the garage door.

    Oh, and here’s hoping you both make it to your anniversary intact 🙂

  5. Calling a 40 year old woman middle age will probably get you in more trouble than the chickens in the garage. Take the word of a woman over the age of 40.

  6. Stephan, maybe your cell phone is onto something. The thrill is definatley gone. Sorry dude. LOL!!!

  7. Chickens are the root of all evil!

    And I think a new garage door is a very romantic anniversary gift; I can’t wait to hear of Staci’s glee!

  8. I hope Staci gets part of your royalty checks. She is wonderful inspiration for you – ha!

  9. Do you have kids? When I got married we had one dog (a beagle). Six years later (no kids and my wife turned 40 five years ago), we now have three dogs, four birds and two ferrets. No donkey, but we don’t have a garage (yet). Good luck . . .

  10. It reminds me of the WKRP in Cincinati when Les threw turkeys from a helicopter…saying “for the love of God, I thought turkeys could fly!”

  11. The chickens could be pay back… BTW she will kill you for posting that she turned 40 on the BLOG

  12. Your wife sounds like a Saint. You should buy her more chickens and an extra donkey to get on her good side.

  13. i guess i’m fortunate, my wife turned 40 and chose skydiving. dumb and scary? maybe. but at least i don’t have a box of evil birds in my abode. shake a kfc bucket at ’em. that’ll keep them in line.

  14. Man, this makes me glad my husband and I don’t have a garage. He’s the mad scientist type, so there’s no telling what I’d find in there.

    Also, the chicken totally did it.

  15. Staci is an uncommonly good woman, to put up with an attorney/cartoonist husband. You should consider getting her something much nicer than a garage door. Maybe a donkey?

  16. Stephen, did it ever occur to you that maybe the chickens are trying to find their own Internet Happy Box?

  17. Those evil chickens are probably plotting to destroy some other part of your house right now…

  18. Just hang in there. When the chickens get older, you can chop their heads off and eat them. Revenge!

  19. She put chickens in the garage? What did she do with your old, pre-marraige recliner, your keg-o-rator and your wonderous collection of beer coasters?!?
    Just wait till they start crowing at 3 am and waking up the kids…

  20. Boy, that takes me back. We raised chickens for a while when we lived in the rural suburbs. We did better than a cardboard box – we got a playpen (lined with several layers of cardboard for easier cleaning) where we kept them in the living room, much to the confusion of our border collie, until they were old enough to move out to the pen we built for them.

    I disagree about forgiving them the mess for the sake of the fresh eggs. The eggs still tasted like eggs, but NOBODY wanted to wade through all that chicken doodoo to get those eggs.

    And that was before they learned to fly. Yup, Stephan has it right… we built 10-foot-high wire fences around their coop, but they eventually learned to fly over those walls. From that day on, gathering eggs was a daily Easter egg hunt as we found them under the house, under the car, in the ditch… anywhere but in their nests.

    Oh, and don’t let me leave out the joy of seeing headless chickens around our driveway when the weasels found our home.

    I did get some marvelous pictures of our then-15-year-old daughter trying her best to clean a chicken in the bathtub for dinner… it took her about six hours for a single chicken, partly because she kept getting distracted with a fascinated exam of the organs, playing with the wings as she pulled them off, etc. You’d never guess that she’s now in college to become a veterinarian.

  21. My freind owns a pet chicken and Canaries! Haha! I’m e-mailing her this! Also good luck with your anniversy!

  22. Hmmm… I got chickens when I turned 40. We lived in rural Kansas then (which is a whole ‘nother story), and it seemed like a very sensible thing to do. I loved those chickens, their eggs even more, but they don’t travel well at all so we re-homed them before we came back to Ohio.

    Four years later, living in the burbs, and we have chickens again 🙂

    Maybe it is a 40-thing? Or maybe it’s just the need to have a little control over where our food comes from…. could be both.

    If Staci wants to raise chickens, let her! Tell her to check out and They’ve got all the info on how to keep your coop from being a septic dump (deep bedding)and how to trick your hens into laying INSIDE the coop (golf balls).

  23. You are in some serious trouble, there. Chickens in the garage are a sure sign of voodoo to come. If you catch your wife smearing oil on candles or speaking Creole, head for the hills.

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