Wild Things - The Coconut Chronicles: Two Guys, One Caribbean Dream House - page 200

So, of course, five minutes later I was roaming the sideyard in my flip flops searching
for my lost crustacean. It didn't help matters that I had begun to think of him as Mr. Krabs
from Sponge Bob Squarepants .
When Michael wandered out onto the balcony ten minutes later I was still searching in
vain for my new pet.
“Okay,” he said in his most patient voice, regarding me with something resembling pity.
“I give up. What's the story?”
It occurred to me to lie, but what story could I concoct that would be remotely feasible?
“I'm looking for a crab,” I admitted.
Michael glanced at me sleepily across the early morning light.
“You might have better luck at the beach.”
“Good idea,” I said.
After a while he went inside, no doubt to call my therapist.
A few minutes later I found Mr. Krabs clinging to the far side of our back door stoop.
If I hadn't known better I would have sworn he waved a claw lazily in my general dir-
ection.
Whether it was a greeting or an accusation, it's impossible to say.
☼ ☼ ☼
Speaking of local fauna.
Each time we browsed through the “Comments and Suggestions” book Jane had ad-
vised us to position strategically on our coffee table, we noticed that almost every entry
mentioned the local roosters.
Yep, roosters.
People seemed to be obsessed with them.
While some were big fans of these strutting, highly vocal fowl (“they add local color
and the crowing sound is so relaxing”), others considered them the poultry equivalent of
the anti-Christ. (“Can't they be stopped?? ”). For the latter group, we began leaving dispos-
able earplugs in the medicine cabinet.
Admittedly, the roosters of Vieques take a bit of getting used to.
The first time we visited the island—the time I was deathly ill and fully expecting to
die any second—the teeming rooster population (along with the goats next door) worked
overtime to make sure I didn't get a wink of sleep.
I had already encountered a similar issue when I lived in Key West. There the rooster
problem was deemed so grave that some city commissioners declared war on the island's
roosters. Naturally, within minutes a Rooster Rescue Team was formed to fight back. Those
wacky Floridians.