This month our rooster is paying no heed to its own circadian rhythms. Crowing before sunrise in June is not on.
On top of which, it’s a psycho. It sees me as a mortal threat or male rival or something. It launches unprovoked attacks whenever I venture outside.
I have resorted to taking an SUP paddle with me into the garden for defence. This cannot go on much longer. The feathered fiend may have won a few battles, but I suspect not the war.
Woken again in the middle of the night, I felt moved by this troublesome bird to pen a haiku, in the backs of my eyelids.
The Early Bird
The cockerel crowed,
Stirring all before the sun.
Tired hands hold its neck.