LITTLE CHUTE, WI – On May 7, 2025, the sleepy village of Little Chute transformed into a feathered frenzy as residents packed the town hall to squawk about the hottest topic since the invention of the egg: whether backyard chickens should be allowed within village limits. What was meant to be a civil discussion quickly turned into a barnyard brawl, complete with clucking impersonations, rogue roosters, and one very confused council member who thought they were voting on chicken nuggets.
The meeting, dubbed “The Coop Controversy” by locals, was sparked by a petition from resident Henrietta “Henny” Peckins, who argued that Little Chute’s ban on backyard chickens was “fowl play.” Henny, sporting a chicken-shaped hat and waving a sign that read “Let Our Hens Be Free,” presented her case with passion. “Chickens are the future! They give us eggs, eat our scraps, and provide endless entertainment. My neighbor’s dog barks all night, but my hens? They just cluck softly and dream of world domination.”
Opposing Henny was local curmudgeon Gerald “No-Cluck” Nelson, who claimed chickens would turn Little Chute into “a lawless poultry paradise.” Gerald, armed with a PowerPoint titled “Chickens: The Silent Menace,” warned of rogue roosters crowing at 4 a.m., egg theft rings, and the inevitable “chicken mafia” that would take over the village. “I’ve seen ‘Chicken Run’!” he bellowed. “Those birds are plotting something!”
The debate took a turn for the absurd when resident Tommy “The Eggman” Larson stood up to demonstrate his “chicken calming technique,” which involved interpretive dance and what he called “soothing clucks.” Halfway through his performance, a real chicken—smuggled into the meeting by an unidentified prankster—escaped its tote bag and sprinted across the council table, leaving a trail of feathers and one very startled mayor. “Order! Order!” Mayor Cluckworthy (no relation to the chicken) shouted, banging his gavel as the audience erupted in laughter.
Council member Debbie Doodle, who admitted she “didn’t read the full proposal,” asked if the chickens would need permits to cross the road, prompting groans and a chant of “Why? Why? Why?” from the pro-chicken faction. Meanwhile, local conspiracy theorist Randy Rooster claimed the chicken ban was a government plot to suppress “egg-based currency.” His speech was cut short when he tried to pay his property taxes with a carton of free-range eggs.
As the meeting stretched past the two-hour mark, tensions boiled over. Henny accused Gerald of being “anti-eggducation,” while Gerald retorted that Henny’s chickens would “turn Little Chute into a giant omelet.” In a moment of pure chaos, someone in the back row began clucking the tune of “Sweet Caroline,” and half the room joined in, much to the dismay of the stenographer, who later quit, muttering, “I can’t transcribe clucks.”
In the end, the council voted 4-3 to table the chicken ordinance for further study, citing the need for a “poultry task force” to investigate zoning, noise complaints, and whether chickens could be trained to mow lawns. Mayor Cluckworthy closed the meeting with a plea for civility, saying, “Let’s not let this divide us. We’re all Little Chuters, not little roosters.”
As residents spilled out of the town hall, Henny vowed to keep fighting, promising a “Cluck-In” protest at the village park. Gerald, meanwhile, was seen googling “how to soundproof a house from roosters.” And somewhere in Little Chute, a rogue chicken is still at large, living its best life and probably plotting a sequel to this egg-straordinary tale.
No chickens were harmed in the writing of this article, though several egos were scrambled.