“Five thousand?”
He eyes me. “That’s not much of a dent in college. I’ve got three, and they’re all smart.Toosmart, if you ask me. There’s going to be a lot of college in this house.”
“Ten thousand?”
He glances behind me, and I kick myself for leaving my car right out in the open.
He raises his eyebrows.
“Twenty thousand and you sign an agreement to not get another rooster ever.”
He considers this for a moment. “Fifty.”
I snort. “Thanks for your time,” I say, and turn quickly on my heel.
“Alright, alright!” he shouts after me. “Twenty thousand, but just know that if your check bounces, I’m buying five more.”
I turn back to him. “My checks don’t bounce.”
He nods, gently pulling the small child off his leg and motioning for me to come inside.
Kids’ toys are scattered across the ground and a TV somewhere is playing a kids’ show. Above us, heavy thumps tell me playtime is occurring somewhere on the second floor.
“Let me just have my business manager send over a document for you to sign,” I say, pulling my phone out of my pocket and calling Sana. I explain the situation to her and after a lengthy silence that tells me she’s judging me mercilessly, she agrees to pull something together for me in a few minutes based on a surprisingly similar contract she had to draw up when we realized a tenant in one of our Manhattan properties had taken to breeding alligators in the shared courtyard.
Thank god she’s a law school dropout, or I’m not sure she’d have a speck of an idea what to do with this sort of request.
And when I turn back to the man, I give him a quick smile. “Should be just a few minutes. Can I have her send it to your email?”
He nods, and I type out the address in a text to Sana.
And just as I press send, a thump rings out above us, followed by a kid bellowing, “We’re okay!”
The man shakes his head, pulling the child up into his arms and retreating into the kitchen to collapse onto a stool.
“All boys?” I ask.
He nods as the child burrows his face into his neck. “You have kids?”
“Not yet.”Not yet?
“Absolutely exhausting,” he says, letting out a long breath as he leaves a seemingly subconscious kiss on the head of the one he’s holding. “To tell you the truth, I’m kind of relieved we have a reason to get rid of the rooster. I’ll always protect what my kids want, but maybe this can teach them a lesson. Education is more important than temporary enjoyment.” He pauses. “And I’ll finally get a little sleep.” He shakes his head. “You’ll treat the rooster okay?”
I nod. “Not in the business of killing roosters. Just relocating them.”
“Where do you take them?”
Great fucking question. “The sunflower farm.”
He cocks his head to the side. “Really? I didn’t realize they had animals there. My wife loves that place.”
Theydon’thave animals there, do they?“They do now,” I say, doing my best not to let my panic show because I suddenly feel an intense obligation to make sure this rooster is being cared for.
And I havenoidea how to do that because I didn’t come into this thinking I’d be rehoming a rooster. Just that I’d be fixing a problem.
He nods as his phone chimes and he gently maneuvers his child to get his phone out of his pocket. He lets out a long breath. “There it is.”
He clicks through a few times, then reaches into his other pocket for a wallet, taking a quick picture of his ID and sending it along with, presumably, the electronically signed agreement to not purchase another rooster.
