Our neighbors are really nice. And I think they’ve always felt that way about our family. But we suspect that may be changing.

It all started about seven months ago when a generous friend of ours gave my wife a batch of fertilized eggs with which to populate her newly remodeled chicken coop.

Laura and I were delighted and we awaited the arrival of new chicks with tremendous anticipation.

We entertained fantasies of sunny days on the farm with hens quietly cackling and pumping out cartons and cartons of fresh eggs. Instead of indulging in this goofy fantasy, we should have done our homework.

We should have gone to the local library and got a copy of "What to Expect When You’re Expecting Chickens," or something like that.

Then we would have considered the fact that some of those eggs could quite possibly turn out to be roosters. Two of those eggs, to be exact.

Initially, there were no problems. Then these mutant birds matured into full-blown "roosterhood."

The ones we have suffer from a disease called CCS, or Compulsive Crowing Syndrome. Now, this in itself isn’t so bad. The idea of a rooster crowing at the break of dawn is kind of romantic. It’s the kind of thing you leave suburbia for, a beautiful, lilting, musical reminder that you live in a rural idyll.

The only problem is that these roosters, named Elvis and Gigantor by my too-imaginative wife, think they’re auditioning for "American Idol," the chicken version.

And for them, the break of dawn is often 3:15 am. Or 2:45 am. Or any other time well before the sun breaks over the Santa Rosa Mountains.

Now, if it were just a gentle lilting "cock-a-doodle do" that would be one thing. But, no, these two idiots are crowing in the pre-dawn hours like a pair of hopped up jazz musicians.

They deliver their versions with staccato blurts and fierce improvisation that push the limits of dynamics and phrasing. And one – I think it’s Gigantor – ends his rendition with a weird sucking echo of the "doodle-do" part.

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[ Berry-Bell and Hall Mortuary ] kind of diatonic croak that would have music theorists searching for explanations for centuries.

So what causes these maniacs to crow at ungodly hours? Desperate for answers, we decided to go to our neighborhood chicken specialist, that nice lady who gave us those fertilized eggs.

Maia Dugan, an Anza resident who has been raising chickens "too long" (since she was a child), told us that it could be a number of things.

"They could be just strutting their stuff," she said. "They could also just be announcing their presence;

sometimes a rooster just wants to be heard."

That’s interesting, we thought. Did the roosters ever consider that we might be in a better mood to hear them if they waited until, I don’t know, maybe 7:30? Maybe after we’ve had a cup of coffee?

Then Maia gave us a much more noble excuse for our roosters’ ill-timed exertions.

"They may be sacrificing themselves," she said. "If they sense danger, they crow and puff themselves up to try to scare predators away."

"I’ve had brave roosters and wimpy roosters," she added. "Most will try to protect the coop."

Now this was a revelation. Could it be that Elvis and Gigantor are of the brave variety? Are these two alleged public nuisances actually engaging in acts of chicken coop chivalry? Are these gallant gallos keeping our hens safe by playing "chicken" with encroaching coyotes?

We felt kinda proud. We thanked Maia for her input and offered her a couple of full-grown roosters. She declined the offer. Smart lady.

So at least we now have a better understanding about why Elvis and Gigantor make that dissonant din at all hours.

We know that knowledge is power, but we don’t know if it makes us feel any better about the situation or not. 

And we’re afraid to ask our neighbors what they think of the sounds emitting from our pugnacious pollos.

We’re guessing they’d tell us those roosters would sound much better roasted with herbs and garlic.

Steve Manseau lives in Anza with his wife, his son, two dogs, two horses, a cat, two geckos, a fluctuating number of chickens, and two cacophonous roosters.