Farewell, Lucky: we barely knew ye

It's incredibly quiet around here; soft, peaceful, the night air unbroken by man or fowl. I can't get used to the lack of noise, although it's a welcome quiet. It's quiet because today a nice man came and took the rooster away. Farewell, Lucky: you've gone to a better place.

For those of you not in the know, Lucky was one of a pair of chooks bought to keep the duck company. The other one didn't quite make it, poor darling. For the longest time we were in denial about the fact that Lucky was not a girl chicken, but as with so many other male-types to which we had become attached, inevitably we had to face the fact that he was a cock.

Anyway, as well as being incredibly not kosher with the city council, Lucky was waking me up at five am every morning and continuing to crow throughout the day, as well as attacking Hegel and anyone who got too close. We didn't want to take him to the RSPCA, since we realised he'd promptly be put down, so Georgia listed him on the Trading Post ("Well-fed rooster, $1, price negotiable) and someone called up jubilant and came and collected Lucky. He breeds chickens, apparently - instead of getting the needle, Lucky is being put out to stud. There could be worse fates.

In any case, I can't quite get used to the lack of noise. Fortunately our street has some weird sound dynamics, otherwise the neighbours would have lynched us by now - that's how piercing the damn bird. It will be blissful to sleep past five tomorrow. Hegel is getting used to being an only child - he's getting more attention from us at the moment that he has since he was a duckling. And instead of a dollar, Georgia is getting a free soft drink next time she goes to Mr Breeder's 7-11. We're still trying to figure out who got the better end of the deal.