The Cruel Crow
I’ve never contemplated murder until now. It’s not an act against a person, but an evil, sadistic rooster that enjoys tormenting me every night for hours.
The rooster begins crowing at 2 a.m. It sounds nothing like the “cock-a-doodle-doo” in kids books. This is a piercing scream that I’m quite certain is on par with the cries banshees make before someone is about to die.
The first night I heard this crow, I was able to roll back asleep only because of the three rum and cokes I had consumed during happy hour and the two Belekins I had later in the evening. But the rooster woke me again at 4 a.m. and again at 5 a.m. When the church bells started an hour later, I gave up any notion of sleeping.
I rolled over, turned on the water for the shower and stepped inside to get the wakeup call of lukewarm water.
These are how I spent my first few nights in San Ignacio. Now, the lack of sleep is starting to catch up to me.
When the rooster begins crowing, I turn on my computer and hope the soothing sounds of Led Zeppelin or Coldplay will be able to whisk me away. Sometimes, this works, but my playlists are only so long. And when the rooster begins his nightly vendetta against me, I have to load up another playlist.
Even drowning out the foul beast doesn’t work all the time, especially with soft songs. “Cry Baby Cry” by the Beatles was not meant to be interrupted every 15 seconds with this animal’s ridiculous call. The rooster could at least do me the common courtesy of trying to time his territorial pissing match with the beat of my music.
When I finally drifted to sleep last night, I dreamed that Belizean soldiers were helping American soldiers at a base somewhere in the Cayes. I tried to convince them to come with me to San Ignacio to take the rooster into custody for disturbing the peace. It is that serious of an offense to me.
When I discussed my concerns with the hotel owner, he described the rooster’s cries as “singing.” My jaw dropped. I’m pretty sure if William Hung sang lullabies, it would sound better than the rooster.
Basically what I’m writing and asking for is forgiveness if anything happens to a rooster in the middle of the night. It will be humane, and the rooster will find a good home in my stomach. Now, I just have to find a kitchen, and I’m willing to pay for its use.