Dear Mr. Rooster,
Yes, I hear you. It’s 6:46am and because I’m a freak of nature, I’ve been up and working since 5:30am. So yes, I heard your very first cockadoodledoo this morning, and to your credit, I thought it was cute. “Ah look,” I said to myself, “I’m in the COUNTRY. A natural alarm clock!” I kicked my feet around in my soft line-dried sheets, enjoyed the unseasonably warm breeze that blew through my window and reveled in all things rural.
But you’ve been going at this for a solid 15 minutes now, and I’m beginning to wonder: Where is the fire? You’re starting to sound hoarse and I don’t understand how you’re even finding time to breathe between bleets any more. I appreciate your dedication, but buddy, it’s a Saturday. I hate to break it to you, but I don’t think anyone is listening.
Oh wait – apparently your friend, Lazy Dan, can hear you, because now he’s joined you. Only, he sounds more like he’s screaming bloody murder than actually crowing. The two of you make quite a tag team out there. He’s Laverne to your Shirley – or perhaps Lennie to your Squiggy? Between the two of you, I’m thinking the sound of police sirens and chopper blades in DC would be a bit more restful.
In closing, a question for you: how did you reset your clock for Daylight Savings Time? I mean, it’s not like you wear a wristwatch on that little foot of yours, and I can’t imagine that three weeks ago you were cawing at 5:45 am.
That’s all. Keep up the good work over there. I’m sure our neighbors appreciate your efforts, even if they’re blatantly ignoring you and sleeping in this morning. At least I hope so, because otherwise you might be on the path to cock soup.
Regards,
Alison
pithypants 
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