Foghorn, Leghorn, and Sam

If you follow me on Twitter you already know a lot of this.

If you don't follow me on Twitter - what is your problem you Twitterless weirdo?

Okay, probably not a good idea to call my dear followers weirdos.

Especially since I really relish the opportunity to tell this story again...

and Twitter is a monumental waste of time. (but I will deny that in a court of law... so don't quote me on it)


My neighbor has roosters. 3 roosters if you can believe the rumors.

I have never actually SEEN these roosters. (hmmm, can't say as I've actually seen the neighbor either)

Thus I have no idea what the roosters names are... for the purpose of today's discussion I am calling them Foghorn, Leghorn, and Sam.

No, there is no point in naming them since I don't know WHICH is which... but aren't those names better than "Cacciatore" "A la King" and "Saltimbocca"? (obviously I should never raise chickens...)


I get up fairly early each morning - 5:35 - but the roosters? They get up before me... every day... and have a tendency to wake me up with the way they enthusiastically greet the day.  Even mondays... they must have been dropped on their heads as eggs.

The first time? They must have been young roosters at the time because I heard an odd noise and thought I heard a baby crying outside my window. Either I was really tired or I have a low opinion of the parenting skills of my neighbors - because I went out and walked the street up and down for a little while before pinpointing the noise and putting my mind at ease.

The roosters are not young anymore... and while I'm glad that I no longer have dreams about small children being abandoned outside my bedroom window - I am not so thrilled that their little voices have become fully developed wake me up from a dead sleep loud booming Cock-a-Doodle-Freaking-Doo voices.

I have become "influential" on Twitter about Roosters I have been tweeting my annoyance out so often! (usually at 5 a.m.) 

My first tweet?

My neighbor has a rooster. I want to throttle him. #IntentionallyVaguePronounUsage

it's too bad my neighbor is a Twitterless weirdo...

I've woken up craving chicken breakfast burritos. (which really don't sound appealing at any time other than 5 a.m.)

I've had dreams about sharpening axes.

I have cased their yard in hopes of finding a small gap in their fence so the roosters could just "escape"

I have twisted my pillow between my clenched fists until the feathers threatened to burst forth...

I have spent more time than I care to admit brainstorming ideas for a "chicken muzzle"

and finally... finally I lost it. another night with very little sleep this week and I guiltily dialed the # for animal control.

I inquired nicely about the legality about roosters within city limits. (just double checking... but no, not allowed) and then was surprise when the animal-control guy knew which street I lived on... apparently other neighbors were fed up before I was...

Yay - for two reasons:
#1 - I should be able to sleep in soon
#2 - technically I wasn't the pain in the neck complaining neighbor who got them in trouble. so no guilt.

Okay... maybe a TEENSY bit of guilt.

Let's just say that if they throw a block party this weekend I'm totally going to avoid the bucket of fried chicken.