It’s almost midnight. The house is finally quiet… except for the rumbling of four snoring bodies. It’s amazing just how silent it is up here at night… compared to the noisy city we were once used to. Silent… that is, until I heard this.
What? It’s the middle of the night. Dark. Peaceful… Quiet.
I stick my head out the back door wondering why on earth I am hearing the rooster at midnight.
“Hamlet! Shut-up!” I yell… as if he is going to take any notice of me.
Cock-a-doodle-doooooooooooooooooooooo!!! Hamlet says… to prove the point.
I heard him again when Zoe woke me at about 3:30am.
I heard him again at about 5:30am – which is sort of reasonable since it was at least approaching morning, though it was still pitch black dark.
He goes off at various intervals all day and night, the crazy testosterone pumped adolescent boy chook. The girls call him the ‘rooster alarm’.
I guess he is just desperately trying to exert his authority over the old Isa hen who just won’t concede she is a girl and give up the spot of top chook. Despite the fact that Hamlet now towers over her and crows in her face, she still chases him around the orchard and still gets first dibs on all the tasty scraps. Hopefully all this crowing means he’s finally ready to be a father – We can put up with the cock-a-doodles if they bring is baby chicks next season.
But seriously…. crowing in the middle of the night? How does that help Hamlet’s cause? It’s a damn good thing Grandma J shipped him off to the farm at a very early age because crowing at 3:30 am in the suburbs would not be a happening thing. Out here… in the sticks, with no neighbours except cows and horses… it’s not such a big deal.
Just goes to show that Hamlet was right…
“There is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so.”
Hamlet, Act II, scene ii