MY next door neighbour keeps chickens. Not any sort of

chicken, mind you — not in Castle Road — but Silkies and

varied exotic breeds from Pekin, Poland and Belgium. I

think she finds them on ebay. And to keep them all in

order — and very happy — there was, of course, a

cockerel, a fine, big boy, red in the face and wattles and

comb. We called him Boris, I can't think why. Until quite

recently, Boris would strut his stuff among the exotic

birds in his harem, and every now and then he would

throw back his head and let out a lusty Cock-a-doodle-

doo, a good, earthy, country sound. This never worried

me, I liked Boris's fine baritone crow and it brought many

a smile from passers by.

Until — you've already guessed it — someone had to go

and complain. You wouldn't credit it, would you, that

someone in a small market town in rural Devon would

whinge over a cock crowing? But whinge they did and it

was official. A 'man from the council' came around to

assess the nuisance. You can bet your life that poor old

Boris had his decibels measured very carefully. And the

result?

Poor old Boris received his marching orders.

It is deathly quiet in Castle Road now and we are the

poorer for it. His one time keeper is very upset and so,

too, are his immediate neighbours. You can be very sure

his girls are inconsolable. How anyone could be mean

minded enough to complain over a cock crowing beggars

belief.

I have but one thing to say to these complainants — Cock-

a-doodle-doooooo.

Richard G Williamson

Cranmere

Castle Road

Okehampton