I believe it’s past the point of no return. At least in my head. When it hits the planning stage, it’s too far gone.
Chickens are awesome, and I know this because we raised them for many years. But we were younger and I wasn’t quite so anal. I did a lot of dumb stuff, mostly having to do with keeping things from eating our girls, but other stuff too. Still, they seemed to do well despite me, for the most part.
We once had a bunch of young pullets, soon to be layers. They were in a chicken wire pen on a dirt floor INSIDE a barn. Each morning I’d go out and find one or two gory dead birds, and it was definitely concerning. I ended ups catching the vandals with a live trap; three baby possums. Mama was using our barn for their chicken Croissandwich-making .
Babis are fine. I like babies. But this little batch of miscreants had decimated our flock. No bloody details, there’s no need, but they were sent shortly to possum Hell, where I hope they never stopped seeing those two fascinating lights coming down the road again and again.
Point being, I wasn’t thorough, and the baby possums and chickens paid the ultimate price for my laziness and sloppiness. So I want to think this through with the focus that comes with age. Wait, that’s not a thing.
Anyway the plans are in the pipeline. I Photoshopped an internet image into a line drawing that’s close to what I hope to build as a pen, and more importantly, after a lot of idea-shuffling I think that the outhouse itself might be able to do the job as a chicken coop.
The problem with the outhouse (really the only problem, but a big one) is the concrete seat that dissects the place, almost cutting it in half. I think I can work with it though. I’m geeked.