Ha! When I was 12 years old I kept a pet chicken in the house whom I walked on a leash in my front yard. I was laughed at and clucked at but I didn't care. Visitors would photograph me walking my chicken on a leash. At that time chickens were not allowed in Pinellas Park, and we were visited by a 'very important person in a suit' who told me I would have to get rid of my chicken.
At that point my father came out of the house and informed the very important man he was addressing a 12 year old girl, and he did not appreciate a stranger talking to his daughter.
"I'm here about the chicken," said the very important man in the suit.
"You will get off my property," my father warned in a low voice.
"You are not allowed to keep chickens on your property," said the flustered important man in the suit.
"I can darn well keep a chicken on my property," my father said, his voice getting louder. "You are trespassing and you will leave."
"I will get animal control to pick up the chicken," warned the man.
"You try that," snapped my dad.
By this time the neighbors began to gather, and the retired judge who lived across from us approached with caution.
"What's the problem?" he asked.
"Chickens are not allowed," said the very important man in the suit.
The judge looked at the man and looked at me. "Sir, that chicken is a pet. The hen is used for therapy."
"Chickens are not allowed in the city limits," insisted the man in the suit.
More neighbors began to gather and the Judge crossed his arms over his chest.
"The law states 'Chickens'," said the retired judge. "The law does not address the keeping of one chicken as a pet. This is a therapy animal and the law does not apply to her. You take this hen from her and you'll have to walk through this crowd. I will call the newspaper and the TV stations and make sure this is front page news. I can see the front page photo: a child crying over the loss of her pet chicken. A chicken who never strayed from the yard. A chicken who supplied countless hours of joy to the kids in the neighborhood."
Lead by my fuming father, the neighbors had now surrounded us. Oddly quiet, my neighbors simply stared at the very important man in the suit. Nobody said a word except Cluck who was nestled in my arms and was talking chicken talk to me.
The very important man in the suit sensed he was in a predicament and chose his words carefully. "Well, at least it's not a rooster."
Sensing the tide had turned, my father stepped back and the crowd separated to allowed the suit to head toward his car. We never saw Mr. Suit again. I continued to keep my chicken in the house, and walked her on a daily basis in the front yard where she scratched the dirt, chased bugs. I was still laughed at and had to put up with silly antics from the neighborhood kids, but I never forgot how they stood behind me when my chicken partner was in trouble.