Rooster Wars

There is a progression here, oft times, Gentle Reader, of bad to worse.  Still, seen in certain lights it is amusing.  I’m not sure what those lights are but the search is on.

We figured out or I should say the Partner figured out, on a positive note, that our little bear friend has moved on west, toward the coast, to safer and higher ground.  I was relieved given the number of people with guns and active trigger fingers around here.  But, hibernating in a very clever spot indeed, our friend woke up, made a couple of forays, and decided the smart thing was to head west toward higher mountains and rivers.  In fact, the footprints were headed west, as if to say, I am So Out Of Here.  So, no more bear.  But the pigs seem to have decided to stay in this area for the season and there have been some interesting vehicular encounters I hear tell.  The neighbor who rides around on a quad with a rifle was somewhat perked up by the news of the porcine posse, because of course they’re good to eat.  I found myself thinking about making ham.  Buoyed along guiltily on that thought, and having another batch of sourdough bread come out very well (recipe in TARTINE BREAD, starter made from Nancy Silverton’s recipe back when dinosaurs roamed the earth) even though needing a bit of tweaking on the bench rest, AND realizing I could go no further on the flying anvil of doing my taxes until Monday when I can spend another unfathomable length of time on the phone waiting for an IRS person to answer some questions, I felt pretty bucked up last night, which was also Friday night.  Hoo Haw.

And so it was, Gentle Reader, that my unreasonable fantasy of a livable life was brought to a crashing and cacophonous halt at, oh, 3:45 a.m. today.

When we got here, there was one rooster and about eight hens.  Manageable.  Until it turned into forty plus chickens of whom ten are roosters.  All of whom are, as a woman remarked pityingly to me in the post office as she was picking up a box of chicks (because SHE keeps her roosters separate thank you very much),”free range”.  In this case it means they go wherever they want all the time so there is chicken shit thickly spread over perhaps a good mile of area.  Among other things.  It also means there are intense fights every day, hens vs. hens, roosters vs. roosters, hens vs. roosters.  There are sounds like Chinese opera whenever one of the many hawks does a flyover, as well as when the dog (who kills the chickens weekly, by the way) comes out.  And, most specially, there are TEN ROOSTERS CROWING EVERY MORNING starting at about , yes, 3:45 a.m.  The poor things haven’t mastered the proper crowing technique even so it is a rather indescribable set of vocalizations but, to be clear, it is ear splittingly loud.  You can hear these chickens all the way at the top of the hill coming down toward Happy Acres.  Interestingly everybody around here has chickens, and lots of ’em.  But you never hear them.  Also, it is pitch dark at 3:45 am.  Pitch dark. There is no sign of sun or light, period.   I’ve lived in the country before, and lots of people had chickens in the city where we previously lived .  The Partner grew up with chickens in the back yard.  This is just to say that we are not Chicken Ignorami, in short.  I expect vocalizing as the sun comes up, and usually it’s really nice to hear.  Plus then you know what time it is.  Roosters crow at dawn.  Maybe a half dozen times, then that’s it.  But not these babies, ohhhh no.  They start crowing and yowling at 3a.m.-ish and continue en masse, competing as it were to be the loudest, until past 8 a.m.   You would be right in thinking: whoa! that must wake you up!   it might even make you crazy! Indeed it does. And it has been mentioned to the proper authorities.  However, this morning, what with all the cosmic vibrations colliding all over the place and the world blowing up and whatnot, the whole thing got completely out of control.  I now have to go buy a new shovel for the landlord to replace the one that got..er..broken…in the attempt to quiet the roosters.  No roosters were harmed in this episode I should point out, although even I was ready to strangle them all.  At this point, I’d have to say the score is Roosters 1, Us 0.  I shudder to think what tonight may bring as the response we got by 6 a.m. was not…terribly responsive.

It’s a puzzle, really, how things get so ballsed up, even if it is not surprising.  But here is one more place to make peace. I hope.

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