A letter to the neighbors

Dear Neighbors:

I want to apologize for all of the racket this morning.  Yeah, we sleep with the windows open, too.  What must have sounded like over a hundred squeaky, adolescent roosters crowing between the hours of say, 5 and 7, was in fact over a hundred squeaky adolescent roosters, calling back and forth between the elder cocks in the chicken coop.  What a chorus it was, no?  Well, it was remarkable, even if annoying.  Maybe if I tell you that the crowing will come to an abrupt halt very soon, that the pasture pens will soon be like the forgotten ghost towns after the gold rush, maybe then you’ll overlook it as just one of those quirks of living in the country?  No?  Well then maybe a delicious grass-fed chicken dinner is what you need, when the only sounds interrupting your solitude will be the juicy, chin-dripping bites of tender roast chicken punctuating the otherwise still night.


Your Neighbors

For the rest of you:

Listen carefully first for the elder rooster in the background, followed later by one of the young upstarts.  Had I not been gritting my teeth and covering my head with my pillow in the wee hours of the morning, I could have captured for you the real chorus of every. single. rooster. in. there. crowing at once.  Alas.  You’ll have to use your imagination and magnify this by 100.

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