on Having to Kill a Convert

Folks who know me know that I keep chickens in the front yard. It's an exotic thing to do in these parts of Los Angeles County... well, for a non-Latin anyway. I've got about 20 birds; Buckeyes, Cinnamon Queens, Auracanas, Silkies and French Marans. Most are from an Ohio hatchery. The silkies came from my local feed store.
One of the silkies has taken to crowing at sunrise. As the feed store owner would say, "He turned into a rooster." That statement STILL makes me laugh. Anyway, his days in my aviary are numbered because (a) roosters are illegal here, (b) he's been crowing at 6am and (c) I don't want to run the risk of having fertilized eggs. So back to the feed store he shall go. I don't know what his fate will be, but I surmise some Asian family will have a nice black-skinned chicken dinner.
Another unrelated but curious concern has popped into my head recently. I read a lot of personals ads. MANY MANY MORE than I would like to admit to and I am always amazed at the number of people who write about how they LOVE the outdoors. This is especially surprising when they live in places like Palm Desert. And yet... they keep running ads over and over again. Do these guys take their laptops with them and start composing by campfire in front of a pup tent?
I never make any such statements. Being outside is to get from one place to another. Or, when I have to actually do work outside (like toss around trash into a trash can) I might be out longer than normal. But in California, the unhealthy indoor man only goes outside to smoke these days.
I also marvel at people who are looking for companions (i.e. sex objects) that are 15-20 years their junior. Planning on having a built-in nurse somewhere down the line? Who knows? Maybe when I'm old I too might start cruising seniors from the high schools. . . NOT!