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That's an (English) attempt to represent the crowing of a rooster. Other cultures have other words for animal sounds.
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∙ 11y ago
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Can roostafa cockadoodle doo?
No, roosters are the ones that cock-a-doodle-doo, not ostriches. Ostriches make a deep rumbling sound instead.
What are the release dates for The Jimmy Stewart Show - 1971 Cockadoodle Don't 1-14?
The Jimmy Stewart Show - 1971 Cockadoodle Don't 1-14 was released on: USA: 26 December 1971
In which cave is the cockadoodle in rune factory a fantasy harvest moon?
MT. GIGANT I think.
Know any knock knock beehive jokes?
One of Knock knock beehive jokes is that which talks about Cockadoodle..and the chicken.
What is spoogle?
A cockapoo (also called a spoodle, cockerpoo, or cockadoodle) is a hybrid dog, bred for the first time in the United States, by crossing an American Cocker Spaniel or English Cocker Spaniel and a poodle (in most cases the miniature poodle or toy poodle), or by breeding cockapoo to cockapoo.
What is a spoogle?
A cockapoo (also called a spoodle, cockerpoo, or cockadoodle) is a hybrid dog, bred for the first time in the United States, by crossing an American Cocker Spaniel or English Cocker Spaniel and a poodle (in most cases the miniature poodle or toy poodle), or by breeding cockapoo to cockapoo.
Does a hen chatter?
Yes. The hens will make a fast chattering sound when upset, bothered. Sounds like a quickly repeated "tuck tuck tuck tuck tuck". I find this happens most when there is a small rodent like a mouse in the coop, it is different from the sound they make when threatened by something.
Why are you afraid to have fun and do stuff with people such as Birthday Parties Warter Parks. Basically stuff people enjoy?
This is an excellent question, but more importantly, it is worded with eloquence and a deep interest in clarity and spelling. To answer your question with similar professionalism, we must first go back. Where, you might ask (if you were standing in front of me and had heard the previous sentence)? Deep, deep into my childhood. I was born in the bayou of Louisiana, where my most permanent company was fear. A very real and unmediated fear of alligators. Now, some people might say that alligators aren't nearly as dangerous as they seem to be when we see them biting deer in half on nature documentaries. And to that accusation, I would say "Yes, I agree," if the person accusing nature documentaries of fear-mongering were standing in front of me and were speaking to me and not to someone else who was standing near me and was a friend of theirs or at least an acquaintance. But the truth is, alligators are very real when you come from swamp country. And they're also very hungry. All the time. My mother would put out loaves of poisoned bread for the alligators (which is an entirely different story involving several of my cousins and one mean-spirited uncle who taught me the quickest way to dig a series of graves), and those loaves would almost always leave us with a potful of alligator meat (that would then have to be treated with black widow anti-venom (as the poison we used was from live black widows that were cooked in the bread)). But anyway, my family was relatively poor, as this was the Great Depression. And so, every Monday before school, my mother would dress me up in the only clothes I had available -- anti-venom-soaked rancid alligator meat. Needless to say, my bayou public school teachers didn't take to my strange attire, and so they would send me straight home to put on "real person clothes," as they called them, completely unaware of the irony that this was a fictionalized story and that they weren't even real in the first place. Well, ladies and gentlemen, let me tell you, I was not in the mood to take my hovercraft home through gator-riddled waters while wearing the families of those gators as a necktie (the easiest clothes for my mother to fashion out of gator meat were neckties), so I instead went to a nearby gator-free water park, where I would often find total strangers celebrating their birthdays. One day they found out I was skipping class, and my teachers decided to do the only thing that would teach me a lesson. They sliced off my cockadoodle and threw it in a wood-chipper, then made me become intimate with a deep-fryer to cauterize the wound. And that, my friendly friend, is why I'm afraid to have fun and do stuff with people such as Birthday Parties Water Parks, basically stuff people enjoy.
