It's the town that would throw away a chance to hold on to something a bit different, a bit quirky. Something that would set it apart from the acres of soulless, deed-restricted, suburban sprawl, jammed onto clear-cut prairies throughout Wesley Chapel and central Pasco.
The Zephyrhills City Council is going to banish the city's chickens - the free-range, maverick-hearted, chest-thumping, look-at-my-fancy-tail chickens.
The kind of chickens other chickens yearn to be.
The kind of chickens we ourselves would yearn to be, if it weren't for the job and the family and the mortgage.
They strut through city neighborhoods. They chase each other under hedges. The hens cluck and squawk while the roosters stake out territory and crow with cocky, reckless abandon.
And that kind of free-spirited nonconformity just won't be tolerated anymore in Crankytown.
The residents rose up Monday against the proud, free chickens of Zephyrhills. Where the chickens came from, no one knows. They roost in the live oaks at night. They scurry through back yards during the day. They claw through garden mulch, they root through piles of dead leaves. And they crow.
They belong to no man, and they do what chickens do.
And that can't be in Crankytown.
So residents went to the council. They complained about noise. They complained about the mess.
"I have a brand new shingle roof, and they defecate on it," complained Stephen Dugger. "When I see people feeding the chickens, it frustrates me."
Psst.
I live in Zephyrhills. I feed chickens.
I like them.
Some say the roosters crow all night. They wake children on school nights.
I have trees full of chickens. I love watching the evening "chicken show," when the ungainly yardbirds flap their way up to the branches for the night. And they don't keep me up. They're pretty quiet once the sun sets in my yard. Must be a special yard.
My chickens are content.
Of course, I don't go overboard. Neighbors need to respect each other. By "feeding" chickens, I mean they visit my birdfeeder and feast on what the squirrels have dumped on the ground. It's not like I'm a chicken rancher offering unlimited corn to a giant flock. That would be unfair to the neighborhood.
Sure, sometimes a rooster gets under my bedroom window to announce the new day at 5 a.m.
When that happens - during the few months when I sleep with the windows open - I close the window.
Problem solved.
Chickens claw the mulch out of my flower beds. I kick it back in.
Problem solved.
Or not. Resident Dennis Rizer asked council members if it would be okay to shoot the birds with a pellet gun.
"I'll take care of mine myself," he said.
Well, council members agreed, as long as the gun is a pellet or a BB gun.
Council President Lance Smith suggested using an electronic stun gun.
"We could fry them while we're at it," he said.
Relax. He was joking. Probably.
In the end, the council told the city manager to look into buying traps to catch the demon poultry and relocate them.
A farmer near San Antonio offered to shelter up to 100 birds.
So I was glad to hear at least those that are captured will have a good home, but I asked Mayor Cliff McDuffie about the city's trapping program. He told me trappers wouldn't go on private property without permission.
I'm here to announce my property is off-limits to chicken hunters. Maybe I'll post signs. Maybe those of us who value a little something that makes our town special could forge a network of sanctuaries.
We'll have a festival, a chicken dance. A "Fowl Ball" or a "Cluck n' Strut" comes to mind.
"Zephyrhills: A Cool Place to Roost" or "Welcome to Crankytown."
