This called for the slightly devious business of having an outdoor party, as my landlord's ex-duckhouse was too heavy and unwieldy for a few people to move. It then took 18 people half an hour to argue back and forth the alternative methods of moving this coop some 500 feet over the sloping and cluttered ground behind my house into its future home in a little valley in the front yard. Approximately three minutes were required when we finally picked it up and carried it, having realized that we couldn't put it on rollers and there was no way it would fit in the pickup. On the third day I learned that Leghorns can fly. The fourth day was spent putting up a higher fence and it has continued in this vein ever since.
Experience is a wonderful teacher.
When all this started, I thought it would be nice to have some hens scratching around in the yard and fresh eggs are really good. Suddenly I discovered I was completely addicted to chicken-watching. Hens aren't the brightest of creatures, but each one has a distinct personality and the social order in a group of growing fowl is highly engaging. Desmond was the supreme authority. Whenever another cockerel tried to mate a hen, Desmond arrived in a flurry of feather to soundly beat the upstart and chase him around the yard.