THE CHICKEN AND THE BUREAUCRAT

 

(This article was written in 1980 and was widely circulated. It is reproduced here for your amusement.)

Dust a-flying, I hammered and sawed as the coop took shape. It was not your ordinary hen coop, but a fine and royal miniature Victorian finished off with shiny yellow paint with white trim. The straw-filled egg basket was inside.

Just as I was putting the last touches on the weather vane on the roof, I heard an ominous rumble in the sky. Frop-frop-frop! In whirled the patrol helicopter of the County Land Use Enforcement Commission! The noisy craft shuddered to a halt right in my flower garden, its wind blowing the landscape every which way. Before the dust settled, out jumped an enforcement agent bedecked in the splendid uniform of the Enforcement Patrol.

He swaggered over, magnum and stick on belt, notebook in hand, and boomed ... "Looks like several crimes, misdemeanors, violations, infractions and non-conformances have occurred here!" I trembled in shock, "I...I..." "Anything you say will be used against you," he declared as he wrote furiously in his notebook. "But it's just a little chicken house," I cried! I saw that further protest was to no avail and watched with dismay as the agent chronicled my crimes in his report.

"You are charged by the people of the state with the following infractions ... 1) no permit for farm animal, 2) no permit for farm dwelling, 3) no egg productions permit, 4) no State or County Agricultural Clearance Slip, 5) no permit from County Farm Bureau, 6) improper zoning, 7) non-conformance with the Great Plan, 8) Health and Safety violations, 9) no permit from Coastal Commission, 10) setbacks . . ." and on he droned.

The burly enforcement agent handed me my copy of the indictment and nailed a giant red proclamation to my hen house. "You are in a heap of trouble friend ... better go see the authorities and clear your name." As the noise of the department helicopter faded I sat contemplating my predicament. Being a law abiding type, I didn't know what else to do but go and apply for the necessary permits.

THE NEXT DAY

What a place the Bureau of Permits was. Vast halls and corridors. Seemingly hundreds of windows with busy clerks and long lines of people. I was not the only one in search of the proper permits.

After milling through the crowd a while I found the farm animal section, subsection chickens, and fell in at the end of the line. Two and a half hours later, I reached the window to find that it was the chicken window alright, but only for permits for 11 to 25 chickens. The window for 1 to 10 chickens was further down the great hall.

After reaching the correct window, the one for 1 to 10 chickens, I again joined the end of the line. A half hour later as I reached the window, the clerk slammed down the gate and closed for the day.

Well alright, back again first thing in the morning. This time I reached the window and filled out the proper forms in triplicate. This only took 45 minutes.

Next was the Hall of Building Supervision. This office demanded blue prints to scale, site plans, engineering reports, materials list, contractors ID number, nine copies of all. Plus copies of all permits issued by other agencies.

And so it went, from window to window, bureau to bureau, commissioner to commissioner. Egg Board, Agricultural Board, Non-conformance board, and the Zoning Commission.

The zoners were the most difficult. I had to get on a list for a hearing and the agenda was booked for six months. It seems I was in a zone that allowed 11 to 25 chickens. The variance would allow me to keep just one chicken. They claimed it would take even longer to get my property rezoned for one chicken.

After posting bail at the Bureau of Land Use Enforcement (BLUE) I began the long process of permit approval at the Office of the Great Plan. There in the quiet and reverent halls were the dedicated technicians and priests were hard at their tasks. The Great Planners were designing a better world for us all. I hoped there would be room for my hen in this brave new world.

I was determined not to be discouraged. I was going to persevere! So on I went, to the Architectural Board, the bearded and bespectacled Archaeological Commissioners from the university, Air and Water Board, Seismic Safety Bureau. Then, at last, the Peoples Commission on Good Taste.

The Commissioners of Good Taste were relentless in their zeal to do their duty. Such dedicated civil servants I have never seen. They scrutinized my application forms, maps and drawings. They made numerous field trips for on-site inspections of my little hen house. After several sessions I agreed to compromise. They would grant their approval if I would re-paint the hen house brown with yellow trim.

So I re-painted, covering over the offensive yellow. The chicken didn't seem to notice.

July 2010, and the last permit arrived in the mail! Aha! I persevered to the last and won! In this mood of jubilation I rushed out back to show the hen the pile of completed permits. But, alas, as I approached the fading brown hen house the chicken was lying on its back, lifeless. Its wings were folded neatly across its breast in tranquil repose, a smile on its face, possibly reflecting visions of that happy barn yard in the sky.

She was a good hen, one egg a day for nine years. Little did my chicken know she lived her whole life illegally and in violation. An outlaw to the last.