Between Zoomies and Iced Coffee

So apparently my near-death experience with Kung Pao Rooster was not a one-time event.

This morning I got up, got all my chores done, and headed down to take care of the chickens. The last couple of days had actually been pretty uneventful. I had been carrying my trusty Chicken Stick™ and keeping Mr. Rooster at a respectful distance. Things were going well.

Or so I thought.

Now let me remind everyone that I’m still recovering from a concussion and whiplash thanks to our previous disagreement.

I walked into the chicken yard carrying the water bucket and my Chicken Stick, feeling cautiously optimistic. The chickens were minding their own business. Everything seemed peaceful.

Then I heard it.

The flutter.

The battle cry.

The sound of tiny feathered rage launching itself from a perch.

Before I could fully react, this little jerk came flying through the air like he was auditioning for a poultry version of Mortal Kombat.

KUNG PAO KICK!!!

He launched himself straight at my head again.

Now, in theory, I was prepared. I had the Chicken Stick in one hand. Unfortunately, I also had a heavy water bucket in the other hand, which meant my defensive strategy was about as effective as bringing a pool noodle to a sword fight.

The next thing I knew, he came flying into me and nearly knocked me off balance. I stumbled backward toward the coop frame, trying to save the water bucket, keep hold of the Chicken Stick, and maintain what little dignity I had left.

For a brief moment I thought, “Well… this is it. This is how it ends.”

Not taken out by cancer.

Not by old age.

Not by a car accident.

A rooster.

The obituary would read:

“Mary was tragically defeated by approximately six pounds of feathers and bad intentions.”

Thankfully, I managed to stay upright this time, but it was close.

And here’s the thing… I am not even complaining. I genuinely think this whole situation is hilarious. But if I’m being honest, it’s also becoming a little overwhelming and exhausting. I’m still dealing with some of the side effects from the concussion, like headaches, dizziness, and just feeling mentally drained much faster than normal. So starting every morning wondering whether I’m about to be ambushed by an angry rooster isn’t exactly helping the recovery process.

Every morning I have to walk down there wondering if today is going to be a normal chicken-care day or if I’m about to enter another round of Feathered Fight Club.

I can literally feel the cortisol kick in when I see him. My shoulders tense up. My heart starts racing. And meanwhile, he’s standing there looking at me like he’s been training for this moment his entire life.

I’ve worked with nervous dogs, protective dogs, giant dogs, stubborn dogs, and cats with enough attitude to power a small city. But never in my life have I met an animal that seems so personally offended by my existence.

At this point, filling a water bucket has somehow become an extreme sport.

Most people are worried about tripping over the garden hose. I’m over here wondering if I’m about to be aerially assaulted by a rooster named Kung Pao while carrying 20 pounds of water and a stick.

Doctor’s orders: Rest, reduce stress, and take it easy.

Kung Pao’s orders: Prepare for combat.

At this point, I’m counting down the days until my client comes home on Tuesday so I can once again walk outside without wondering if I’m about to be ambushed by a feathered ninja.

And yes, I admit it… I’m nervous when I go down there. Whether Mr. Rooster can sense fear or is simply the world’s biggest asshole remains a mystery.

What I do know is that somewhere in that chicken yard is a rooster who fully believes he’s winning this war.

And unfortunately…

he might not be wrong.