chickens
Roosters and Recovery: Why Bob's Choir Practice Is Testing My Last Nerve
Oh, Bob. Bob, Bob, Bob. I get it, you saw the sun. Congratulations. Now can we please wrap up the morning concert before I lose my mind? There's nothing quite like recovering from surgery, running on zero sleep, and being treated to a one-hour rooster choir practice at dawn. It's not that I don't appreciate the dedication, but fifty-two songs feels like fowl play. I know he's just doing his job, and my kids would never forgive me, but some days I seriously consider coyote delivery. It's a love-hate relationship, folks. For anyone else questioning their sanity over a noisy bird, our story on Sylphie the silkie might make you feel a little less alone.