Oakland’s anti-slaughter group sees the practice as a socio-economic problem. NOBS argues that the city’s approval of the slaughter of chickens “would serve the needs of a small group of people interested in creating artisan animal products instead of serving the low-income communities.” They’ve posted flyers around the city, playing up fears of stray chickens wandering the city and children witnessing grisly scenes of animal killing.
There are no limits on the number of pigeons a resident can own, and each household can own five dogs and six cats. There’s no township law against breeding and slaughtering rabbits, which are regulated in other New Jersey communities.
And then, of course, there is the potential slaughterhouse next door. “Botched slaughter is all too common,” writes Ian Elwood, of Neighbors Opposed to Backyard Slaughter, an anti-urban animal outfit in Oakland. “But even slaughter that is performed ‘correctly’ is still no treat to witness or hear.”
At this point in the locavore narrative, urban chicken-keeping has vocal advocates and an adamant opposition. Some cities welcome backyard poultry with open arms, while others are more skeptical. As the practice grows, the two sides seem prepared for a long, drawn out war on the value and propriety of chicken-keeping within city limits.
While Bowling usually sticks with his square little footprint and tried-and-true proportions, he is sometimes asked to come up with new shapes and sizes. He built an octagonal building he describes as “Gothic” to fit into a hillside garden in Burien. “The largest shed I ever built was 10 by 12, and we dry-walled and insulated it for a studio,” he says.
Alfieri said he raises 2,000 pounds of fruits and vegetables in his garden each year and that his three outlaw chickens lay about 300 eggs a year. By rolling back the restriction on backyard coops, he said, Wayne would encourage a plentiful hyper-local source of protein and create a benefit for the township through license fees.