Worse than a cock-a-doodle

If that loud-mouth red head keeps it up I am going to have to toss something at him. Bill has ruined him and all the rest by tossing out breakfast at dawn. Today, when I can sleep in, that cardinal is on the telephone wire screaming like an infant hungry for his two o'clock feeding. I swear he's worse than a rooster. And by the way, what is it with all the chicken coops around town? One of my blog buddies calls her feathered darlings her "frhens."