Crowing was definitely not his forte, but it was something he was forced into by nature every morning at first light—something he had never quite mastered the way his brothers had. Once Rooster got past that humiliating daily ritual, he could throw himself into his screenwriting, which is what he truly loved.
You might wonder how a rooster could write, but he had found an old typewriter tossed into the corner of the barn two weeks before the Kentucky Derby and had started pecking at the keys. Not only had the hens crowded round him, but the other animals stopped to listen, too. Even the race horses, heavy with sweat after their daily runs, had taken notice of the tap, tap, tapping. And, thus, the trainer and his young apprentice, Jonas, stopped by, too.
“I wonder what he’s writing,” said Jonas.
“We’ll never know till someone puts some paper in the typewriter,” said Ralph.