We sleep with a fan going at night, partly because while I burrow under a mountain of down blankets (except for my feet — they NEED TO BREATHE OR I’LL DIE), John is a human heating unit, partly to maintain the climate the dogs and cat prefer: a chilled and shaken 67 degrees, and partly to drown out the sounds of morning traffic and crowing, both beginning at … ummm … 6am.
I love the sound of crowing, although it’s getting a little crazy: Our 4 competing roosters have lately been conducting a round-robin (round-rooster?) marathon of crowing. All day, all the time. The neighbors … our wonderful saintly neighbors who cleared our driveway for 2 years until we figured out the critical importance of having a snow blower in December and January (and in February, March, April), who helped us with massive equipment when we dug a pond for our dog, and who watched without laughing as I vacuumed spilled kitty litter from the grass in our front yard (those city folks sure are funny about yardwork) … well, they say they like the sound, too, and “we get up at 4am to feed the horses, anyway, while the boys sleep through anything”.
“4 am?” I turned off the fan one night, and woke to a cacophony of crowing at 4am. Not 6. Not 5. Our starring tenor (Maxwell) crescendos with a melody ripped straight from the first 3 notes of the Get Smart opening theme. At 4am.
