Good morning Rooster

When I moved in with my friend and her parents in their delightfully suburban home in West Chicagoland, I expected a few things. For instance, I expected that we would be located moments from a gas station and a grocery store. I expected that the snowplow would come through in the dead of night and wake everyone up. I expected that the blinding lights of downtown Chicago would effectively obscure any and all stars from our view no matter what time of year it is. But what I did NOT expect was the rooster next door. 

No, your eyes do not deceive you. A ROOSTER lives next door. And every morning, bright and early, he crows long and loud, just like any self-respecting rooster would do. Not only do I open my eyes to a sky-scape painted on my ceiling, but the first sound to vibrate my little tympanic membrane is cock-a-doodle-doo! 

Actually, it's more like "cock-a-doodle-ACK!" because the poor bird is so fricken cold that his throat seizes up every time he tries to hail the sunrise. He's got a broken crow, and I'm sure all the little hens in his roost remind him of it daily. 

Despite Mr. Chanticleer's vocal deficiencies, his persistent attempts to fulfill his role manage to wake me all the same. Funnier still is my strange compulsion to greet everyone with a "mornin' y'all" or a "fine day, ain't it ma'am?"

There's just something about that rooster. 

It will be a sad, sad day when "she'll be coming around the mountain and they'll kill the old red rooster so we all have chicken and dumplings when she comes...(chop-chop) (yum-yum) (woot-woo!)"