I didn't grow up on a farm but my grandmother's neighbor's possessed some scraggly chickens and one equally scraggly rooster. Sometimes these chickens managed to escape their yard and wandered in the road. I loved when their chicks hatched. They paraded their fuzzy yellow offspring in the road, clucking loudly when the neighborhood children (myself included) tried to capture them. As much as I loved the chicks, I had much less love for the rooster. Cockadoodle, as I called him, unlike the roosters on my morning cartoons, crowed every hour on the hour throughout the night often right outside my bedroom window. Still, he was beautiful with viridian green and deep mauve feathers, flashing his bright red cockscomb as he strutted around guarding his family.
This piece is a tribute to Cockadoodle, that noise nuisance from my childhood.
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