I started building my coop last year while my friends were gutting a house they'd bought. They let me take whatever I wanted from their demolition pile, and I hauled a LOT of stuff away -- lots of odd-sized studs and scraps of plywood. They probably saved me a couple hundred bucks on my coop. So I gave them naming rights to a chicken. I finally had my friends over to meet the teenage chickens last weekend. Lo and behold, they'd treated the chicken-naming responsibility with - ah - appropriate respect and solemnity. By which I mean they'd not only chosen a name, but Kate had spent the morning crafting a very tiny sword with which to ceremonially name my chicken. (It says "Forged in the colonies". Kate is British) We assembled everyone in my laundry room. In front of the gathered witnesses and with her wife Kat holding the honoree, Kate ("her majesty's representative in the colonies" -- or at least my laundry room) dubbed my buff orpington Lady Bawk of Peckham. Lady Bawk is the smallest of my flock, and the most likely to steal food out of someone else's beak. A perfect aristocrat.