We live in a unique place. Want to forgo landscaping and mowing your grass? Get your yard certified as a natural habitat and you have the legal right to ignore it (the city will provide a sign!). Want to create a concrete zoo and garden gnome habitat in your back yard? Fill it up – the city has no problem with your (overflowing abundance) of yawn ornaments. Need a place to keep your broken vehicle with no windshield? Anywhere on your property and you’re good to go.
If our city was a family, our local government is akin to parents raising a 5th child that they did not plan on. Nothing fazes them, nothing worries them, do what you like.
For that reason, I can’t say I was surprised to wake up the past couple of days to the standard barn yard call of a rooster. Chickens are a standard sight in our neighborhood, but roosters, so far, have been a rarity. And while I like to consider myself easy going, when your backyard pet impedes my ability to sleep past 5 AM? I’m significantly less pleasant about it.
I called Animal Control, who confirmed that roosters are not allowed in city limits. But without an exact location, they told me they couldn’t help – they wouldn’t go on a wild
goose rooster chase.
I had to locate the bird myself.
(“Be sneaky,” the dispatcher told me).
And luckily, lovely Martha to the Right happens to be the perfect neighbor for such an operation. Martha has at least 10 bird feeders in her back yard, which she fills promptly at 3 PM every day while she has her afternoon cigarette. And if her arthritis is acting up (she is 91, you know), her sons do the job for her – she won’t let the birds (and squirrels, and hawks, and cats) miss a meal.
So it wasn’t a surprise that I’d find him there. Even roosters get hungry.
I called Animal Control, who promised to send an officer … but two hours later, the rooster has nested in Martha’s trash can and is still a-cock-a-doodle-doing. I called Animal Control again (“Hi, I called earlier about a rogue rooster?”) and they told me their field officer left for the night an hour ago
Which means that, baring a shotgun and a roast chicken dinner, I’ll see the sunrise tomorrow.