Well, after an epic saga involving pitched backyard battles and uncountable hours of late-nite distress (as described in earlier posts), that feather-clad, sure-clawed, vocally manipulative cocky cock known as G.W. retired from the scene in the most undramatic manner possible. One night, or was it early morning, before the first densely humid mists started to roll off the Cusuco mountains in the background, before the first penniless campesino hit his unkempt field of beans for the day, the noise simply ceased to come. That's right, there was no more predawn cackling by the most obnoxious rooster ever to plague the vast expanse of Earth. It was like when the British, after enduring weeks of brutal airborne assaults by the Nazis during the Blitz, one night were able to sleep through until the next morning in peace. So you wake up, disoriented but vaguely happy, because you realize that, somehow, in some way, the source of your torment is gone.
But how?
I learned, after waking up with a genuine smile for the first time in days, that our landlady Dona Ramona had decided to slaughter the merciless rooster without warning. I had not heard any wee-hour screams of agony or loud rustling indicating a penultimate struggle against doom, and wondered how this feisty bastard would have gone down without a big fight. Ramona assured me that he was fairly calm as he was hoisted onto the chopping block. I figured that he did not realize a large knife was hidden nearby, that G.W., being vain, and unaccustomed to ill-treatment by his owners, probably felt he was being put on display. Don Cirilio, as adept as a samurai, surely grabbed that knife and slit G.W.'s throat as quick as a lightning bolt. Before the dude knew what hit him, it was all over. What was his last thought? Did he even have time to realize he should have a last thought? If there was one, then was it of a dedicated program administrator being awoken at an ungodly hour perpetually, thus forced to brew ever stronger coffee hours later just to function and keep up with the Joneses?
I have to admit, without G.W. to duel with, life became much more predictable and boring. On the other hand, I was suddenly able to get more than enough sleep (as much as a mattress that sags like a grandmother's breasts would allow). I now dreamt of sailing in kayaks through paradise mangrove swamps, such intense dreaming indicating a depth of sleep that had been an impossibility for so long. I awoke fresh and recharged and ready to face another day of whatever might happen in the wacky sun-pelted world of the Cof.
And, the coffee got so much weaker...
