One: I can sort of get it. "Ooh! We live in Kansas....let's get a rooster." I won't lie and say that's a thought that I would never have; I'm quirky like that. I've had many brilliant ideas (drunk AND sober) that I haven't followed through with. Ideas are fun. Irony is fun. Owning a rooster may be fun as well; I can't say for sure because I do not own a rooster. I feel fairly confident, though, that if I did own A rooster (not enough to necessitate an entire rack), I wouldn't own one here. In Manhattan. In a housing development. But we'll agree to disagree on that point. Which brings me to Point, the second...
Two: Your rooster sucks!!! Call me a naive "City Girl" (even though Northern Valley, NJ is NOT the City) but I was under the impression that roosters (much like three-year-old's) are Nature's Alarm Clock. I have a list of cartoons to back that fact up, Juvenile-style. (Points if that reference makes you giggle.) It is three o'clock in the afternoon and your rooster is cock-A-doodle-dooing as if it was the break of dawn. Or 1999.
Dude, I'm trying to knock out a hundred peas on Papa Pear right now and your damn rooster is distracting me. What the hell kind of rooster can't tell time? A sucky one, that kind. Sometimes getting stuff on clearance is a good deal; sometimes stuff is clearance for a reason. Again, call me an ignorant city girl but I don't think livestock should be purchased at a yard sale. Teach Fogghorn Legghorn's illegitimate son how to tell time.
Looooooove,
Patti
~~
I received a lot of feedback on what I should do about this situation: have the neighbors deported, get a fox, scream painfully as if the rooster's call is actually causing me physical pain. Well, I did some research (read: made something up) and I've concluded that the rooster is actually a service animal. The owner has narcolepsy and the reason the rooster yells at all hours is to wake the owner up. That makes him ... *puts on sunglasses*
An alarm cock.
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