It's Rooster Time

We had a party here over the weekend. Kids dripping off the furniture kind of party. Hanging off the bunkbed. Building a treehouse. Swimming, eating bagels. 11 is a good number, nice and even with those parallel sticks of number.

The day before, our neighbors had handed us a rooster over the fence. To try him out. He was beautiful, and immediately put the moves on Chris the chicken, who looked a little surprised, and then a little pissed. Then she puffed up her whole body, straightened her feathers and decided he was okay.

But at 4 in the morning the next morning, it was like a car alarm was going off. The cock a goodle goo (as Lilly calls it) would not stop going off. For like 40 minutes. The bad kind of car alarm, the nature kind, where the only way to turn it off is to strangle it. A little talk with the rooster was not going to work. He was always going to go off, when it's still dark, because it's his way.

So Barry walked in at 8 when we were all awake (had all been awake for 4 hours) and said "Uh, can the rooster go back?" I said uh, like right away.

So the night of the party I climbed the back wall and met Bill our neighbor in the dark and handed over loudy the rooster. I hope he doesn't shriek his way into a stew.

Moral is: lots of boys at birthday parties are great, and if you have roosters, have alot of land so they can crow not directly into your bedroom window.