Ah, our little island community. We share a lot here. We share our unsolicited advice, our left/right wing opinions on ballfield artificial turf and vaccines, our recommendations for The Preschool to attend.
Occasionally, if you’re lucky, we share our overflowing veggie harvests, our babysitter, and our top secret hair dresser, or most importantly, our dog sitter’s name.
But we also share something you wouldn’t expect.
I have it straight from a secondhand story that a chicken owner who only had hens in his coop came out one morning, la-la-la, to find a rooster in the coop mixing it up with his feathered ladies.
He was not invited. No, some bird-ditcher came over in the dark of night and kicked him to the curb, or the coop.
And maybe, now that I think about it, it wasn’t even the owner of the bird. Maybe it was a neighbor of the rooster. Who knows.
Dumped, for another neighborhood to suffer the cockadoodledoing. Which, in case you’ve never lived near a rooster, does not happen at dawn. Or I should say, only at dawn. It happens an hour before dawn, perhaps an hour after dawn, then an hour and half later, again two hours later, possibly squeezing in a few happy hour caw-cawings, along with all the extra little cockadoodledooing bonuses sprinkled throughout the day.
So, let no one tell you we don’t share here on Bainbridge.
In fact, I’d be willing to bet someone will be sharing a pot of coq au vin soon.