I quit pretending to sleep and got up about 4 o’clock one morning. Thinking to snack and then to write, I turned on the bright dining room light. Outside, my rooster saw the gleam shining through two newly installed chicken house windows and tried to awaken the sleepyhead hens beside him.
He sent long farewells to the black of night and welcomed the absentee sun, sounding like his voice box was on autopilot, and with each call directly linked to the one before it for the rest of the wearisome night.
I didn’t get a lick of writing done and finally turned out all the lights and played Tetris on my phone. When I finally went to bed, I turned on a noisy sound machine and even donned a headset.
I still sought sleep as the sky grew paler and Ricky Ricardo, my charming and very handsome rooster, was still crowing and I was trying to ignore him and reminded myself what a sweet rooster he is and that he is good for our farm.
But, oh, the insanity of his rhythmic, still-audible crowing. And I wondered if I ought to give him a new name, perhaps something like, Thanksgiving Dinner. But, no, my grown kids love Ricky and probably wouldn’t forgive me.
Note to self: Hang room-darkening window shades in the chicken house for my sake as well as for my sweet little red hens.
Carol Rice can’t get to sleep.
