GRANDPA Simpson awoke with a start. He sat up hurriedly and peered unsteadily into the darkness around him. Someone or something had disturbed his sleep. He cocked his ears and listened. Silence.

He rested his grey head on the lumpy pillow and slipped back into peaceful slumber.
“Cock-a doodle doo!”
He jumped up and swung his legs off of the bed. Crack! His ankle struck the lamp-stand and the sharp pain made him curse aloud. His groping fingers found the light switch. The room was flooded with light. He looked suspiciously around him as if he expected to see a rooster perched on his chair. The clock on the wall showed the time to be 1 a.m.
“Cock-a doodle-doo!”
The piercing cry was coming from somewhere outside his bedroom window. He opened it and looked out. His poor eyesight was not much help in locating the bird. All he could make out was the dark form of the genip tree that grew just outside his window. His brain began to click in and by the time the rooster crowed again he was positive that it was nestled in the crook of the tree, right above his bed-head.
It had to be a stray fowl. He had no chickens. Someone would come searching for it the next day and take it home relieving him from the noisy intruder. He switched the light off and willed himself to sleep.
“Cock-a-doodle-doo!”
“Cock-a-doodle-doo!”
“Cock-a-doodle-doo!”
It was as if the animal was taunting him. Each time he drifted off the bird would shatter his peace with its constant response to other birds in the distance. “You can’t sleep tonight! You can’t sleep tonight!” It seemed to be saying. He tried wrapping the pillow around his head but this had little effect on the volume of the crowing bird.
By the next hour, Grandpa was livid with anger and frustration. Try as he might he just couldn’t sleep through the din made by his tormentor.
Dawn came and he smiled as he lay in his bed Now he would get back some of the sleep he had lost last night. The crowing went on for the next two hours. He got up reluctantly. Opening the window he spied the noise nuisance and proceeded to chase it out of his tree.
“Shoo! Shoo! Shoo!”
The Rhode Island Rooster edged away from the window and continued his discourse with nearby birds. Grandpa Simpson grabbed a pair of shoes and flung them violently at the source of his recent torture. Both missed the mark by some distance and ended up in the next yard only to be torn to bits by his neighbour’s fierce dogs.
By now he was fuming and cussing. If anyone had come at that moment to claim the fowl they would have gotten a hostile reception. He would have demanded payment for his good shoes, which now lay strewn in tatters in the adjacent yard. How could he get the bird down from the tree and off his premises he wondered.
He knew that if his wife Lucille were alive she would know what to do. Tears welled up in his eyes. He missed her so much. She had died two years ago from cancer. Even though she had been in considerable pain she did not complain. How he loved her.
The cock flew down from the tree and this interrupted his reminiscence. Descending the steps he opened the front gate and tried chasing the fowl out. Each time he tried the bird would dodge past the exit and dash back into the yard. He gave up the futile exercise and closed the gate. He felt drained.
Slowly, he headed upstairs. Halfway through breakfast, the rooster strutted through the open back door and into his kitchen. That was the last straw. Leaving his breakfast he shut the door and advanced on the beast. Time for a little revenge. Grandpa Simpson now wore a big smile.
Noon found Grandpa relaxing on the sofa watching TV. He was happy and content. No more sleepless nights. For a moment he felt guilty about his actions but the sweet aroma of curry quickly put that to rest. The rooster had been killed, plucked and partly cooked in curry. The remainder was safely tucked away in his freezer. He sat down and ate heartily.
Later that afternoon Basil came to visit Grandpa Simpson. He and Mr. French-the owner of the dogs were Grandpa’s neighbours on each side. Basil was always losing things. He had bought pigeons, a parrot, ducks and rabbits. None of those lasted very long. The pigeons flew away and never returned, the parrot screeched and screeched driving the neighbours crazy until one day it suddenly went missing.
The ducks were around for about four weeks but because there was no water nearby, they had to go almost four blocks to get to a small trench. One day they didn’t come back. Basil searched and searched but nobody knew where they had disappeared. The rabbits were fun to watch as they bounded around his yard. That is until they sneaked out and ended up in Mr. French’s yard. Both rabbits disappeared among the dogs.
Grandpa invited Basil in and the two men sat sipping XM Rum.
“Boy, I can’t find me fowl-cock,” Basil said this between sips.
Grandpa Simpson almost choked on his drink.
“What happen to it?” he asked slyly, trying to hide the guilt he was feeling.
Basil sighed, “It must have flown over the fence and somebody steal it, or, French dogs eat it.” He opined.
“Boy you don’t have luck with dem things at all,” Grandpa replied.
“You right. I spend whole afternoon checking around. I got to go and cook now. I really hungry.” Basil downed the remainder of his drink and got up to go.
“Wait! Sit down. Let me give you some food.” Grandpa said then hurried to the kitchen before Basil could respond.
He returned with a plate filled with hot rice and a bowl of curry-chicken. Putting these on the table in front of Basil he headed to the kitchen for his plate. The two friends sat and ate hungrily.
Basil ate quickly shovelling food into his mouth with serious intent. Grandpa ate slowly seeming to savour the juicy pieces of chicken.
“Tomorrow I getting a dozen fowls. Four are roosters the others layers.” Basil said this in a matter of fact way.
This time Grandpa Simpson choked. His head swam as he coughed up the rice that had inadvertently slipped down the wrong passage. Basil tried slapping him on the back and after a while, his choking spell subsided.
“What about if we join together and buy some fowls? You got plenty space and we could build a big pen for them at de back.” Basil spoke as if he was surprised at not thinking of this before.
Grandpa Simpson groaned and put his face in his hands. He saw an image of roosters perched all over his genip tree driving him crazy every night. No Way!
He looked up at Basil and smiled.
“Sorry friend but I get too old for that now. Any chicken I want I will buy.”
Basil nodded in understanding.
“I’ll just keep my few,” he concluded.
Grandpa looked at him in alarm. He was serious.
“My plans are a bit different,” continued Grandpa. “I already beg Mr. French for two puppies from the next litter. I will mind two dogs. Plenty thieves around and is me alone.” No more chickens in my yard he thought with satisfaction. “And tomorrow I cutting down de genip tree.”
“But why?” asked a startled Basil who was accustomed to getting his fair share of the delicious fruits when the tree was in full bloom.
“It blocking my view and it too handy to others,” he replied, remembering the many times he had to chase children out of the tree. But his main reason had to remain a secret. No more rooster refuge. He continued eating only now he was keeping up with Basil.