When the cock crowed this morning, I paused for a moment.  Not that his throaty cry was any more earnest or in tune than usual, as far as I could tell.  But I found myself feeling very content.  All was right with the world.  He was telling me he was full of life, and there was more than enough room for optimism for what the future would bring.  * * *

 Anyway, where was I?  Oh, yeah, the strange sound of a rooster crowing in the middle of an urban landscape – a landscape that doesn’t exist anymore.

Back then, I'm sure I had heard a cock crow on cartoons and animal shows on TV, but that was not the same thing as hearing that distinctive sound live while riding your bike on a city sidewalk.  The sound could have just as well come from another planet or floating through the air as a by-product of some weird science experiment in someone's garage.  * * *

CAPTAIN’S LOG #1(a) (Supplemental)[Circa December, 2020]

of viruses hit ‘em, unleashed by poachers who invaded the wild to make a buck trading on wild creatures.

At least these folks have a head start on what needs to be done.