Hang the rooster, hang the rooster, hang the rooster: No, spare the rooster!

The mildly dramatic headline is meant to be sung to the tune of The Smiths' Panic, which has a lilting melody.

But I did want something attention-grabbing because there's a potential crisis looming. Anyone reading my blog, and there's millions of you out there, will know that a rooster has moved into our street - just two doors up. The said rooster has woken my partner Spanner and I up at 4am with its godawful crowing since its arrival on Sunday.

Today Spanner talked to the neighbour who owns said rooster and told him "the bird has to go". What Spanner meant was that the bird should be moved to a farm where it could happily impregnate chickens and live a happy long life - that might be five or six years. Maybe more.

But our neighbour Mr Callous told Spanner he would "get rid" of the bird on the weekend even though he'd planned to keep it for a month so he could "fatten it up".

I didn't know roosters could be roasted (Doh! Red Rooster). I thought fresh chicken breasts came from hens. 

I said to Spanner: What does this mean?

Spanner replied: I guess he's gonna kill it and eat it.

Earlier I'd peeked over our neighbours' fence and into their backyard where the rooster is being kept in a narrow chicken run with a cardboard box as its bed. We made eye contact. 

I said to Spanner: We can't let this happen.

Spanner replied: There's nothing we can do.

I reckon Mr Callous paid at least $14 for this beautiful looking bird. That's how much it costs to buy one at the local charcoal chook shop. Why didn't he just buy a cooked chook?  Why does he have to murder the rooster? We're in the 'burbs for heaven's sake. We shop. Not chop.

I said to Spanner: We could set him* free.

Spanner replied: A fox or cat would get him.

I said to Spanner: Do you know anyone who owns a farm? We could kidnap him and relocate him.

Spanner replied: Sure.  

I'm not sure what to do next. How does one save a rooster from the chopping block?

This whole experience has turned me off roast chicken. I wish I'd never made eye contact.   

*He is no longer an 'it'. He has become a 'somebody'.