I've used my two best jokes in the headline so this post will be brief. I thought you might like to see the doomed rooster from two doors up whose fate is sealed (probably in a tasty white wine sauce).
If you read the previous two posts, you'll know the story so far. And there's no happy ending (not for the rooster, that is).
Today, I snuck around to our neighbours' back fence so I could gather photographic evidence of the rooster's existence. This wasn't an easy task because the fence is elevated so I had to climb onto a cement retaining wall and cling to the rickety palings to get my happy snaps. I could have hauled a leg over, and then the other, and stepped onto the neighbours' property but I would have looked a right eejit had I been caught.
As it was, the house's back sliding doors were open. I knew Mr 'whatever I called him in the last post' (for now, I'll make do with 'Mr Murderer') was home because he was in the front yard hammering up a new fence (I must tell him the back one needs fixing too).
I wasn't sure if his wife was home so there was no way I was going to trespass. I'm a middle-aged woman for godsake. I am an eejit.
The pics aren't too sharp because I had to zoom in, and the sun was in the way. However, these 'grainy' pics may be the last ever taken of the plucky rooster who crowed at 4am - on the dot - every day.
We'll know by the end of the weekend if the rooster's still with us. If it's a silent Sunday at 4am we'll know he's passed over to the other side of the fence into fowl heaven, where 70 vestel virgin chicky babes await his arrival.
I hope so.
