This week, I was walking through the streets of Memorial with one of my good friends and I suddenly felt my shoulders shudder and my posture tighten as I heard a surprising sound coming from the house on my left. “Bawwwkk.” After a few more times, I realized it was the low cluck of a hen, and suddenly, my muscles relaxed, and my surprise turned to satisfaction. Yes, it was unexpected—not because it didn’t belong, but because it fit so naturally into the rhythm of the place. Here was a home that balanced grandeur with groundedness, a reminder that even luxury leaves space for something as simple as a chicken coop.

That’s the thing about Houston. Our neighborhoods aren’t defined by price tags or architecture; they carry personalities as distinct as those residing in them. Sometimes it takes a detail as ordinary as poultry to notice the difference. Whether a neighborhood welcomes chickens or shuns them says something about its values and character.

In Memorial, the presence of chickens makes perfect sense. Expansive lawns and wooded lots allow families to build their own rhythm, whether that means a basketball court, a duck pond, or a few hens in the backyard. It isn’t about returning to farm life—it’s about embracing a kind of authenticity that coexists with polished luxury.

Head toward River Oaks and Tanglewood, and the atmosphere shifts. Streets are quieter and the homes rise naturally from their perfectly manicured lots, not needing to shout for attention, but receiving it anyway. A chicken crossing the road would feel out of place here. It wouldn’t resonate with the intentional everyday life filled with heritage and beauty. Chickens aren’t permitted because they’re unwelcome, but because they don’t align with the narrative these neighborhoods have spent decades writing.

Elsewhere, in places like Briargrove and Afton Oaks, the answer isn’t so black and white. These neighborhoods fall somewhere in the middle with their tree-lined streets and strong sense of community. They’re adaptable: families trade recipes, kids play outside until dusk, and neighbors wave across driveways. Whether or not a chicken lives behind the fence doesn’t change the heartbeat of the street.

West University Place, meanwhile, has a rhythm all its own. West U thrives on order and is compact, cohesive, and deeply proud of its village identity. Here, the absence of chickens isn’t a part of what defines the neighborhood. The focus is on playgrounds, baseball fields, and bike rides—on a sense of community that’s already so strong it doesn’t need the added novelty of poultry.

When you step back, the picture becomes clear: this isn’t really a story about chickens at all. It’s about how neighborhoods express themselves, sometimes in the smallest details. Rules about poultry aren’t random—they reflect a community’s values and identity. In a city as vast and varied as Houston, those differences matter.

Buying a home here isn’t simply about the right number of bedrooms or the perfect closet. It’s about choosing a neighborhood that complements your lifestyle. In Memorial, you could have endless space to roam freely, but in West U, you could have a close-knit sense of community. If you crave polished elegance and tradition, try River Oaks or Tanglewood. Or maybe, you feel right at home in
the adaptable streets of Briargrove. Poultry may be the metaphor, but personality is the truth.

The next time you hear a chicken cluck—or don’t—it might be worth paying attention. It could be telling you something about the neighborhood around you. Houston isn’t one-size-fits-all, and that’s exactly what makes it compelling. Every street name, every backyard, every neighborhood is part of a larger story.

And when you’re ready to find your chapter in that story, I’ll be here to guide you.

Until next time,
Dee Dee Guggenheim Howes