Roosters

Little Red Rooster

My first night on the island a rooster interrupted my sleep somewhere around 3 AM. Having grown up in suburbia, I had always believed that roosters make their noise around sunup. Perhaps it hadn’t set its alarm clock correctly? The next few nights at various times when the sky was still dark and the moon still high, the rooster chose to serenade me and I assume everyone else in the vicinity. The hotel I stayed in my first week didn’t have a brochure, if it did, I don’t think roosters crowing in the middle of the night would have been listed as an amenity.

My second week on the island I moved from the hotel to an apartment. Away from the rooster that couldn’t tell time, I looked forward to a full night’s sleep. I assumed that any roosters residing near the apartment would be more aware of rooster protocol and wait for the first light of dawn to sound the wake up call. Of course I was wrong. Sometime during my first and every night after, a cockaduduldoo would pierce the darkness.

When I’d mention my perplexity in a somewhat sleep deprived state, my co-workers would just chuckle and tell me I’d get use to it. It just didn’t seem possible to me. I can understand how urban dwellers get use to the sounds of cars, and horns, and sirens. One can tune out a constant background noise but the rooster?

The roosters seemed different. Their noise comes out of nowhere. One minute there is silence and the next minute a shrill sound slides into your ear canal and yells surprise. After a month, I moved from the apartment into a house and, of course, there are roosters next door.

I’ve been on the island 6 months and now I sleep just fine. I hadn’t thought about those early rooster-filled nights until yesterday. A new Canadian on the island asked, in that same bewildered voice I had my first month, if one gets use to the roosters. It was his sixth night on the island. The group of us ex-pats, who have all been here for at least a few months, all assured him that he would.