My Neighbor the Cock

I know what you’re thinking. You’re fearing that my carefully documented neighbor battles have finally devolved into juvenile namecalling, and you’re probably also wondering why on Earth I would be trash-talking my neighbors with naughty names on the Internet, given that these things have a way of getting back to people. Surely, you think, I wouldn’t be so foolish and irresponsible as to cast aspersions upon my neighbors right here in public.

But, the thing is, my neighbor is a cock.

A small cock, sure, but, still. A cock.

See? Cock. I told you so.

I managed to tear myself away from Buffy for a few hours yesterday to go downtown to pick up my mail and buy some food, which turned out to be a good thing, because I ran into my buddy the rooster, and I picked up the mystery box. At first, the rooster was shy:

But when I said “Hola, Senor Gallito,” because he is a Mexican rooster, he came right over:

He looks like a bantam to me, and he is very friendly and gentle. We are actually old buddies. Sometimes I see him out in the alley with one of his lady friends, and when I remember, I bring a little snicky snack for him. Sure, he crows a little sometimes, but I happen to actually like roosters, so it’s pleasant to hear him crowing in the middle of the night. It lets me know that the earth hasn’t stopped turning, and I appreciate it. He’s also so sweet that it’s hard not to like him; there’s something incredibly endearing about bantam roosters.

It makes me want to have chickens again, maybe just hens to avoid any squabbles.

Eventually, he got bored because I didn’t have any food, and he left:

And I continued on my way downtown.