In an authoritarian tone with no clemency displayed, Sheriff Daniels snapped, "Face the wall. Interlock your fingers and press the palms of both of your hands tight against the back of your stubborn head!"

He drew a heavy breath. "Ten minutes, young man. You want to act like a little brat you're going to be treated like one!"

The lawman shook his head. In consternation he grumbled, "Twelve years old and being stood in the corner. How many times do I have to tell you the same thing?"

Cody understood Sheriff Daniels held very high expectations of him and complied as instructed. It'd been a long time since he'd been given a time out like he was two years old. But, that morning he'd overstepped his bounds and knew he'd earned the sheriff's chastisement.

Six hundred agonizing seconds crept mundanely by in a dreary metronome. Tick tock! Tick tock! Tick tock! Cody swore he heard each monotoned click count itself off before the timer sounded. They seemed like an eternity to the energized boy. He turned around and apologized, "I'm sorry I acted out, sheriff."

Sheriff Daniels sat back in his chair at the kitchen table with his daily copy of the Astatula Gazette in his hand. He glanced at the boy and said, "I'm glad to hear you say that, Cody. Now, why don't you go up to your room and think about things for awhile?"

"Yes, sir," Cody responded.

He darted up the stairs, lit two bare feet on the landing, and plopped down at his Dell. Instantly, Cody was on his GoFundMe page. A smile crossed his face when he observed several donations had come in. Before long, Cody switched screens to his favorite game, Galaxy Pig Commanders. Let the battle commence.

Cody's philantrophy efforts began when he formed the Free-Roaming Chickens Society of Astatula. The poultry picqued his curiosity. His charity named each fowl with a moniker that matched the chicken's personality. Cody always did prefer animals over most members of the two-legged species.

Seated upright, Cody wondered to himself, "How can caring for free-roaming chickens become such an occupation for this go-getter?" Of course, Little Mister Personality had to totally immerse himself in the ongoing efforts he encountered.

Fortunately for him, Sheriff Daniels owned ten thousand square feet of grassland on the corner of Morningside and Forsythe. There was nothing on the lot but six pens for the chickens.

One day, the sheriff encouraged Cody, "Go check the place out."

So, that's what he did. As days passed, Cody became deeply involved in caring for and feeding the meandering feral birds. Finding homes for as many of the domesticated members of the flock as he could became a priority. Not all of them fit that bill. Some were there because they had been abandoned. Others were original members of the feral community.

It didn't take long before Cody's efforts, and his connections with civic leaders through being fostered by Sheriff Daniels, led to the charity's receiving support from Mayor Applegate's office. In turn, the Astatula Boot Manufacturing Company climbed onboard and sponsored his endeavors.

Technically speaking, the chicken rescue ran into a problem with one of the oldest ordinances on the town's books of uh-ohs don't-do-thats.

Cody informed the sheriff, "That regulation disallows bird trapping and removing."

Sheriff Daniels crawled back inside his squad car and responded, "As long as no one becomes peckish and complains about what your rescue does, I don't foresee where I need to enforce anything. Astatula is fairly pro-happy about their healthy feral chickens. There's lots of animal lovers in Crosby County."

"The rescue's efforts are good for this town," Cody remarked.

"If someone came to me with any of their feathers ruffled over these chickens I'd find a way for your charity to keep doing what you need to be doing without violating any codes," the sheriff promised. "You just keep helping these chickens out the best you can, Cody. Everything else will take care of itself."

Feral chickens had roamed freely in Astatula for at least the last twenty years. The farming community never seemed to mind them. Most of the town's small farms kept chickens for food and eggs. Eventually, the free-roaming flock grew from two escaped hens and a bantam rooster. Nature simpy took its course.

Fifty other feathered friends attached themselves to the three birds after a tornado tore through and destroyed their coops on Frank Cephar's farm. He allowed them to remain loose and multiply. Astatula established itself as a feral chicken sanctuary. That's why the ordinance Cody fretted over came in existence and prevented them from being trapped or removed.

Cody would explain to anyone who listened, "They're a symbol of Astatula and on the town's seal. Especially the ones that have been abandoned. That's the only way they find food. Sometimes they'll poop on porches like they do at Old Lady Nelson's place. They also procreate in public. You know, make baby chickens."

Cody became well versed in the messes the chickens made. He cleaned up more than his fair share of them. But, he didn't really mind because he got a chance to tend to the injured ones and help them recuperate. Something he enjoyed doing.

Occassionally, he toted them to Doc Browning's office for treatment. Cody thought maybe one day he'd become a veterinarian himself. Cody knew the birds couldn't be away from the flock long. If they were they lost their place in the pecking order and could be rejected by the others or fight with them.

Presenting Cody a plaque at their annual awards dinner celebration, Dalton Drew, the President of the local chapter of the Future Farmers of America, praised his many efforts in the wellbeing of the town's feral chickens population. He said, "All citizens of Astatula admire and appreciate Cody's hard work for the free-roaming flock."

A broad smile came to Cody's face.