My husband says good bye to me at five thirty. When he kisses me the cockatiel (who is covered) makes appreciative kissy noises too. This usually makes my husband laugh and the kiss breaks up that way. He goes out the door as I say "I love you and have a good day."
I usually take the time to uncover the bird, who usually says "Hello Bob!" at this point. (Bob is the cat who tries to eat him the most often. I guess they're friends.)
By six the neighbor on the right's kid is awake. You can hear him crying or talking while Daddy gets ready for work. The razor's got to be pretty old. I can hear it pretty clear.
The chihuahua on the other side is usually awake by now, and defending the neighborhood from marauding cars and trash can lids. He's so small that he works himself right under the hurricane fencing. My wheelchair scares him so he keeps the world safe from me too.
By seven the chickens two houses down are awake. I can hear them complaining and talking to themselves. I don't mind. I keep a cockatiel. I have no moral high ground to stand on.
Once in a great while the house all the way down on the corner will let it's black potbellied pig out into the backyard, and he will complain about the chickens, the dogs, and probably my cockatiel. That's okay.
There is a storm drain behind the house, which is usually pretty full. Occaisionally it gets down to a trickle, but in summer it's full of brown, foamy looking water and the duck people come.
Duck people are ducks, but they have this strange and involved relationship with the neighborhood. If they like you they will come into your yard and eat the slugs and scare the piss out of your cat who watches them and dreams big dreams.
The ducks like us. Sometimes they land in the front yard and sometimes in the backyard and sometimes when it is hot and I guess there aren't a lot of slugs they will walk up and down our flat roof and talk to themselves in these crabby old men voices. I don't know where the ducks go when it's cold. Or when there are storms.
The storm drain is very long, and sometimes you can see other animals too, but only at night, not in the morning. At night, the armadillos come out of the woods, like big, prehistoric pillbugs, and wander in and out of people's yards, getting into trash cans and so forth.
You can almost always see opposums at night, but I don't like them, their lips skin back from these long muzzles like a rat who had an accident with a taffy machine, and show lots of teeth. they have ugly naked tails, and they do smell funny (the live ones, not just the dead ones). There are supposedly foxes and owls that come out of the neighborhood, but I've never seen them.
Snakes come out of the woods too, to cool themselves off or to keep dry or maybe to eat the cats, I don't know. I've only seen one and it was in shadow, in the grass at night. I left it alone, and it didn't bother to see to me, which suited me fine.
We have a lot of mourning doves, who sit on the telephone wires and talk in their soft, hoarse voices. There are always seagulls of course, who come through, looking for scraps, but their yellow eyes are disdainful. They're long distance travellers, and there are slim pickings here. Better food at the Denny's or the Wal-mart a couple of miles away.
I've never seen an alligator within ten miles of the house. You can see them in the canals around Cape Canaveral all the time, with their eyes looking yellow or red, depending on how the light hits them. I've just never seen them near the house.
Then again, I wasn't looking either.