Between Zoomies and Iced Coffee

Well, it’s my last morning with the chickens and, of course, Mr. Kung Pao Rooster had to make sure he got the last laugh.

I showed up this morning bearing gifts.

Fresh zucchini.
Oats.
Clean water.
Feed topped off.
The usual buffet fit for chicken royalty.

You’d think after all the treats I’ve brought these birds over the past few weeks—watermelon rinds, apples, zucchini, oyster shells, and enough snacks to open a small chicken restaurant—I might get a little appreciation.

Nope.

Just emotional trauma.

Every morning, Kung Pao has this routine where he jumps up on his perch so he’s closer to eye level with me. Not quite taller than me, but definitely chest height. Apparently he believes intimidation is an important leadership quality.

Sometimes I even stand on my tiptoes trying to establish dominance.

It has never worked.

Usually I throw the food in, shut the coop door as quickly as possible, and retreat with my dignity mostly intact. But today was my last day, and I wanted to spend a little time talking to the hens.

Especially Henrietta.

That girl appreciates a meal.

You can see it in her eyes.

Now, I had forgotten to collect the eggs yesterday because it had been one of those chaotic days where your brain is running on fumes and caffeine. So I knew there would be extra eggs waiting this morning.

After tossing in the treats, I shut the coop door and immediately watched Kung Pao jump onto his perch and head straight for the nesting boxes.

Of course he did.

Because that’s exactly where I needed to go.

So I grabbed my trusty rooster stick.

For those unfamiliar, the rooster stick isn’t for attacking. It’s more of a peace treaty on a stick. A visual reminder that I’d prefer not to be assaulted before breakfast.

I opened the nesting box lid from the outside, carefully placed the rooster stick inside as a deterrent, and reached for the first egg.

There were about eleven eggs in there.

I grabbed one.

And that’s when it happened.

Out of absolutely nowhere, Kung Pao’s head suddenly popped up inside the nesting box like the world’s angriest jack-in-the-box.

I screamed.

The egg launched into the air.

I’m honestly shocked it didn’t hit me in the forehead on the way down.

Instead, it smashed on the ground.

So thank you, Kung Pao.

That would have been a delicious omelet later.

One egg down.

Ten survivors.

At this point, collecting eggs became a full-contact sport.

I had one hand holding the bowl.

One hand holding up the nesting box lid.

The rooster stick moving back and forth like I was directing air traffic.

And Kung Pao randomly appearing and disappearing behind the eggs like some kind of feathered game of Whack-A-Mole.

The entire time I was trying very hard not to use every four-letter word in the English language.

I failed.

Repeatedly.

Honestly, I wish I recorded some of these encounters. The videos I posted from another rooster client had people laughing nonstop, especially when the rooster decided that my existence was offensive.

As I finished gathering the eggs and walked past the coop one final time, I looked at Kung Pao and said,

“Well, I won’t have to see you for a while.”

He stared at me.

Then let out the loudest crow I’ve heard from him the entire visit.

COCK-A-DOODLE-DOOOOOOO.

I swear it was louder than usual.

Like he knew.

Like it was his victory speech.

Like he was standing on the balcony of a castle announcing that he had successfully defeated the human.

And honestly?

He’s probably right.

Today I’m waving the white flag.

The war is over.

Kung Pao wins.

Although if I’d really wanted revenge, I should have let all the hens out into the run and left him sitting in the coop by himself.

See how he likes solitary confinement.

Until next time, Kung Pao.

Try not to terrorize too many innocent people while I’m gone.