When the Rooster Crows...

literally.

What might be the freakiest Coney Island sideshow to hit the 'hood since I moved here in July is crowing right now as I write this. A fucking rooster lives near me. In the residentialiest, sidewalky, front porch neighborhood I've lived in since New Jersey...a rooster serenades.

I can't promise it's a rooster. A first I thought it was one of my cats crowing from behind the laundry machine, slowing dying of dryer sheet fumes. But, no, both cats are alive and well, filling out their fatso selves daily. I am certain the crowing is a rooster.

And, yes, it begins at sun-up...which these days is not so bad because I am up before the sun anyway. Well, except this weekend when I was shooting for a good 10 a.m. wake-up...I was tired enough, the rooster didn't disturb.

I feel like I need to have a "Is this damn sound a rooster?" Party and hope he crows for my guests.

There are odd ducks on my street...one that sits on his porch swing yelling at his dogs. He could have added a rooster to the menagerie. All I know is I need to make friends with my neighbors fast and solve the mystery of the g-d rooster sounds.

I just hope it's not baby dogs screaming. 'Cause, damn, who wants that kinda shitty neighbor around?