One morning a few weeks ago, I woke to Matt getting up early - really early. Apparently the beagle was whining to go outside before our alarms went off. I heard the sliding glass door open, and then I heard what sounded like a death cry. Over and over again.

In case you haven't heard, this particular beagle eats everything. Including fishhooks and screws. So when I heard that hellacious noise, I thought he was shitting something horrible. "Wow," I thought. "He's dying for sure this time."

I stared at the ceiling until Matt came back and climbed into bed. "What was wrong with him?" I asked.

"I guess he had to pee," Matt said.

"Well what the hell was that sound?"

"That was Pecker." One of the roosters. Apparently roosters go through a "voice change" as adolescents just like boys do. And a pubescent rooster crow is like something out of a slasher film. And loud. I'm surprised the neighbors weren't all screaming at us out their bedroom windows.

So the next day, Matt found Pecker a new home (one that may have featured some seasoning and a side of potatoes - one can never tell). And all was well.

Until 5 O'clock this morning. Our remaining rooster, a big white guy named Cockasian, has found his cock-a-doodle-doo. And, much like when 13-year-old female humans hit puberty, we will all suffer.

Any takers?