I envision dozens of ways to kill him while lying under my mosquito net every morning waiting for dawn. I think about the most fitting death for that damn rooster. Beheading would be nice, but death by boiling in a pot of water would help with the hassle of plucking the feathers. Contrary to popular belief, roosters don’t crow at the crack of dawn. What a perfect world it would be if that were the case. Roosters crow before dawn, after dawn, mid-morning, in the evening, and undoubtedly will crow after the apocalypse.This morning (Sunday morning and also my day off) he started in around 4:00. I’m reminded of that Alan Jackson song that my mom likes “Its 5:00 somewhere.” Presumably, the rooster wants to let me know that somewhere in the world the sun’s coming up, even if it’s still early morning in Cambodia. I think the entire rooster population of SE Asia is in an alliance to thwart my plans of sleeping until 6:00 on Sundays. Maybe one of the members lives on the coast of Vietnam and looked out east across the ocean this morning to see the tiniest sliver of light on the horizon. From that moment on it was a race against time to spread the news of the sun’s arrival to the roosters in Cambodia.
I heard them way out in the distance across the rice fields. Gradually the crowing became louder as my consciousness slipped out of pleasant dreams and back into hell…aka ‘the land of the perpetually crowing roosters.’ I waited in anticipation, knowing that the inevitable event that begins my every day was about to happen. There it is! That $#@ing rooster is sitting on the fence 2 feet outside my window crowing away. I looked out the window and he stared right back at me as if to say “I’ll stop crowing when you can catch me barong.” I told him that he better watch himself because Thanksgiving is less than a week away and I have yet to see a turkey in Cambodia. That rooster now has a name; Mr. Thanksgiving. Fortunately for him I will be away from site over Thanksgiving, but Christmas is just around the corner.
Happy Turkey Day everyone! I wish that I was there eating pumpkin pie with you all. Please send terrible thoughts about death and suffering to Mr. Thanksgiving. The family’s only been serving these weird eel fish the past few weeks and it’s put me in the mood for a drumstick.Then again, without Mr. Thanksgiving around I’d miss the beautiful sunrises in Cambodia. Maybe I’ll just have to learn to tolerate him for two years. By the way, Sunday marks my fourth month in country. It’s flown by and time speeds up every day. Suksabie (good health) to everyone back home, miss you all tons.
3 comments:
pictures?
I don't know if I ever told you about my husband, aka...the bird killer. He abhors all things with wings, and I am guessing a rooster would count. Josh can often be found out on the patio swinging away at barnswallows that like to build nests on our sprinkler system. So, I could send him over to Cambodia with a broom connected to a swiffer...all duck taped together on a long stick...or even perhaps a baseball bat. He'd love to take a swing at those roosters. :) They sound like a pain.
OK...let's get a few things straight. First, there are two kinds of music, Country and Western, and I listen to both of them. The Alan Jackson reference was only somewhat correct. Actually it was Alan and Jimmy (Buffett for the non-parrott heads)that sang that. They did reference "it's 5:00 somewhere". However, I'm pretty sure they were meaning 5:00 PM, margaritas, and getting off work and having one, or two, or whatever. All this to say, maybe Mr. Thanksgiving would do well with a shot of Cuervo. Then again, he may sing and dance a little more. Love you, Mom
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