Doodle Doo

I'm in love (again).  This time with a rooster.  I know, I know--he's a rooster, but I love him. I think about how we are going to begin the day together, and my heart soars.  He makes a marvelously grand fuss every morning when I open the coop, carrying on as if he's been counting every single solitary minute of our time apart (and every morning I buy it). But--alas--in one fowl foul swoop he storms right by me to strut atop the can of oats and then yells (directly at me) that he wants his breakfast, and he wants it NOW.  And much to my chagrin, I hustle right over--breathlessly, no less--to get it for him.  The truth is that he's bossy and impatient, and as far as chivalry goes, well, you can forget that.  He's not particularly passionate and he's a very big show-off, but I am hopelessly undone by that magnificent comb and wattle he sports--the brightest and reddest I've ever seen.  Is he not spectacular?

And did I mention all the other girls in his midst? He's surrounded by them. Constantly.
He's killing me.  And I love him.
Long, deep sigh.

Love hurts.