While The Rooster Does Not Find Me So Funny...

...it's ok though...because Alexi does...this kind, kind child who takes care of all things in possession of wings, claws, tails, beaks, crowns...the rooster has no sense of humor...he just gets all anxious that the sun is coming up, and starts talking at you because it's his routine and he doesn't realize you're still sleeping but wouldn't care even if he could...he can't care because the same ol' song he sings is ingrained in him like walking, staring blankly, touting his plumage to impress those who aren't impressed, and not being able to really, really, really fly...So I touched the rooster's comb. I grabbed it and jumped back. Ugh. He played like he didn't mind, or like he didn't feel it-because he didn't? The comb moved in a delayed fashion, like a stupid appendage over which he had no control. The rooster remained, unblinking, as if I hadn't touched him at all, as if he wasn't attached to it, as if it were there for show and void of any feeling...Alexi laughed at my approach while she continued holding the rooster as one might normally hold a soft feline, Snoopy, or a pillow.