On both Saturday and Sundays mornings this past weekend I was jarred awake by the sound of a crowing rooster. Note that I do not live in the countryside or on a farm, but in the middle of a bustling metropolis, so barnyard animal noises really do not belong here. Nevertheless, someone in the neighborhood had acquired a rooster for some reason and it just wouldn't shut up between 4:30am and 7:30am. In yet another sign that 20+ years of video gaming has warped my way of thinking, my first impulse coming out of a dreamy sleep was to find the rooster and attack it, but then I realized that was a bad idea. Why did I dismiss such a plan? It has nothing to do with impracticalities or tresspassing, for in my sleepy haze I recalled the solid cold fact that striking a rooster causes an endless flock of cuccos to descend and attack in the name of revenge and retribution (as seen in just about every Legend of Zelda game since 1992). This morning dawn broke quietly, so perhaps someone else took a Master Sword to its noisy beak and risked the wrath of the cucco revenge squad.