Restaurant critic Amy Pataki and her family decided to rent chickens this summer. This is third in an occasional series on backyard livestock.

Long before our rental chickens arrive in our Etobicoke backyard, my husband registers with Toronto’s Urban Hens Pilot Program.

He soon regrets it.

That’s because the day after we take possession of three Rent the Chicken pullets, a uniformed city of Toronto animal services officer comes to inspect the setup.

The coop is too small for the number of birds, says the officer.

Unless we get a bigger one, our chickens will be removed.

What the cluck?

Rent the Chicken gave us a coop that meets — nay, exceeds — federal livestock welfare standards.

Yet Toronto sets the roosting bar higher. Each bird in the city’s pilot program requires 14 square feet. Our rental setup totals 20 square feet for three birds.

“Unfortunately, the bylaws are really not created by anyone with true knowledge of chickens and what they require,” Rent the Chicken’s Kate Belbeck says in an email.

The city gives us two weeks to comply.

Toronto animal care and control officer Paul Michalik is sympathetic.

“You’re doing a wonderful thing. You’re learning to work with animals, you’re getting fresh eggs. We just want to help you,” reassures Michalik.

This is his second chicken inspection ever. His first was earlier that morning at the home of city councillor Joe Mihevc, who has four birds and a massive permanent coop. Michalik shows me pictures on his cellphone.

We weigh our options. A modern new Eglu backyard coop costs more than $1,000 in our required size; none are listed on Kijiji. Amazon lists pages of coops/rabbit runs but doesn’t ship fast enough. We would build our own if we were handy, but we’re not. That leaves either throwing in the towel or keeping just one chicken, neither of which flies. (Going rogue isn’t for us.)

So we bite the bullet and hire our favourite contractor for an expansion. Carpenter Peter Pilz converts the cage into a 50-sq. ft. wheeled structure he calls “the Taj Mahal of chicken coops.” He even shingles the roof to winterize it.

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I’m embarrassed to say the coop reno cost almost as much as a new Eglu, or $12 an egg up to this point. It feels decadent, like Marie Antoinette on her hobby farm, but the chickens bring us joy.

With that, we cross the line from summer chicken renters to year-round livestock keepers.