"Maybe. But only if you are wearing the proper attire." By that she meant nothing at all, but it would be up to him to determine that.
At his next question, her eyebrows shot up. "Non. No chickens. They cluck and come flying at you like little evil demons with their feathers and their beaks." At his look, she glared. "My father's mother. She had a horrible rooster on her farm in Provence. Merde! The little bastard attacked me once. So all chickens must bear the future blame for that one's indiscretion."
After a moment's pause she flushed pink. "What about goats? We could drink the milk and use it for cheese. And they are not as big as a cow."