My neighbor's chickens and roosters exist for one reason: to drive me crazy, slowly but surely. If they started doing the funky chicken, I'd think the job would be finished.
Once, when I was living on a river with a few band members a nearby neighbor (our only for miles and it had a great barn for rehearsals) had a rooster that would take up the morning call loooooong before the sun made anything like an appearance.
It became sort of a running joke and my part was to play the aggrieved party among us. One night/morning we had all finished a late gig followed by a round of carousing and we were slowing down and having a last laugh in a common.
I think our drummer had only just said, "I can't believe the little [redacted, only mildly salty term] hasn't made an appearance yet."
And I'd said, "If he does he's a dead bird."
The next thing anyone knew the rooster went into its act, out there in the darkness.
So everyone turned to me and I got up without another word walked to my room and came back through the room with my Browning, went out into the night and in the general direction of the intermittent crowing.
The drummer later said to me, "We were all kind of shaking our heads and waiting for you to come back in when we heard the shot."
True story.