“Save our town,” cried Chicken Little. “The sky is falling, streets are crumbling and fountains failing.” Mass hysteria swept the barnyard like the wind-driven flames of a monsoon wild fire.

“There-there, Chicken Little,” soothed sly old Foxy Loxy, speaking for his friends. “All will be well once you pass this teeny, tiny tax. The barnyard will be built new again,” he whispered with a grin.

All the farm animals of Barnyard Hills marched blindly toward the polls nodding in agreement. The sly foxes salivated while waiting for the fresh meat they just knew would soon appear.

One lone voice roared from the rear, “No new tax!” Suddenly the spell was broken. Others chimed in, causing Foxy Loxy to flee in fear. Calm returned again to the barnyard and Chicken Little clucked no more when everyone voted no.