Fully embracing my inner Leslie Knope last night, I attended my first ever city council meeting. Item #12 on the agenda: Ordinance No. 1919 — amendment of the City of Golden code pertaining to the special use permits for the keeping of certain animals.
AKA: backyard chickens.
But, before we got to the chicken vote, the following topics were discussed:
- The city cemetery
- Boy Scouts
- The city circulator bus
- An upcoming golf tournament fundraiser
- Rocky Mountain Arsenal Refuge art displays
- The new city flag
- Appointments to various committees
- The summer solstice concert
All buzz words I scribbled down within the first 30 minutes of the meeting being called to order. Seriously. 30 minutes. These people were on a mission — we all took a sip of the Minute Maid Patriotism. We even said the pledge.
And then, the planning commissioner took the mic for his proposal of the chicken amendment. And then they opened the floor to citizens and I spoke, with my heart beating in my ears, about how all this red tape was silly. Chickens weren’t a big deal and they were going to excessive administrative lengths for animals that could “end up as a tasty dinner.”
Those words actually came out of my mouth.
And I most certainly do not plan on eating my chicks. But, as my face burned red, the council laughed and then voted unanimously in my favor. I nearly thanked them for “giving me the bird.”
R2-R3 zones of Golden may now have chickens.*
*And now, I’ve got to:
- Complete the application
- Pay $40 (previously $450!)
- Hold a neighborhood meeting and get approval
- Complete coop renovations, including predator proofing the backyard
- Find and buy chickens
- Figure out what *exactly* I’ve gotten myself into
- Avoid my father’s laughter, which I can hear from San Antonio. He’s had this song on repeat since I told him about my chicken dreams.