Batir ou ne batir pas?

It's just a matter of time before my 8 year old chicken drops dead. Until that that day I'm planning how many, what breed and what kind of coop I'll have for the post mortem event of what is now Mo. Short for Mohawk.
I'm talking about my black bantam named Mo. He's a chicken. Or SHE actually. After calling her Mo for all these years she's become male somehow. Kind of like how when you look at a pitbull it's a boy, and when you look at a kitten it's a girl. It's like that. Like feminine and masculine in francais.
Le Poulet Chalet( a la gauche)I'm really excited to build a whole new coop. When we built our first one, I was only five years old and couldn't contribute much. I just painted an ugly poop brown color, and left it all to my dad. Now I actually want a brand new start and design it and everything. I'm strange like that. Does nobody else get a strange adrenaline rush when they think of building a chicken coop?
For a while I dreamed of growing up to become a janitor for BHS and see just how long before MRa dies of Emphysema, but I dropped that idea after a while because I realized how many creeper janitors work there. Now I want to be chicken farmer. And if it's too hard, I'll just own them and enjoy their company. While some old ladies have their millions of cats, I'll always have my pullets & cockrels, silkies & bantams, mille d'afleur & plymouth rocks.