Remember Crockpot Roy? The rooster that decided my daughter was public enemy number one? Yeah, he's still alive. I'd like to say he's playing it cool these days, and I guess in some small way, he is. He didn't try to attack Alexa when she came home last night, but then again, he was sleeping. And about that? He sleeps less than I do. And when he's not sleeping, all nineteen...twenty hours of the day and night, he's crowing. At the top of his lungs. Cock-a-freaking-doodle do.
He has officially surpassed Clooney as the most annoying rooster of the decade. He doesn't just crow, either. He likes to do a duet with Siegfried, the other adult rooster in residence. They start their show at four am, on the dot. And like a rousing rendition of dueling banjos, or Lambchop's song that never ends, they keep going long after the sunrise. In fact, they keep going past lunch, on through dinner, and don't stop until it's lights out for chickens. And those blissful few hours when Crockpot Roy and his buddy Ziggy are sleeping? Farmyard gold.
I guess that's just one of the many perks of living on a farm. Or being a judge on American Idol. You get stuck listening to the ear-numbing sounds coming out of good intentioned roosters, preening for attention. But unlike Simon Cowell, I can actually serve mine for dinner.
Hear that Roy? Keep it up and you'll be auditioning for Crockpot factor. The marinated edition.
Until the next time...I'll be grabbing what sleep I can before the next show.