I wrote this piece a while back. I’d say the rooster war is still alive and well.

Today I learned how to deal with an angry rooster—literally, not metaphorically.

Beau Leigh is my daughter Liz’s rooster up here in Ojai. He doesn’t take kindly to anyone but Liz’s husband, Ron, entering the pen. Granted, he’s protecting four hens, but being the target of his wrath is intimidating. When Liz gathered eggs yesterday, Beau Leigh lunged at me on my way out, and I nearly slammed the gate on his neck.

This morning, Liz and Ron were gone. I suited up—long pants, jacket, gloves—and opened the gate. He flew right at me. I raised my arms, yelled “No!” and pushed him back each time he attacked. I managed to grab one egg and escape without harm.

Late afternoon, I had to return. Beau Leigh waited at the door, glaring from a hay bale. I offered chard—he snapped at my finger instead. I retreated, did some quick YouTube research (angry roosters are common, it seems), and returned at dusk.

This time, I offered chard through the fence, then entered. When he flew at me, I flapped my arms and bellowed a strange deep sound. To my surprise, he backed down. I repeated this when he came at me again, gathered four eggs, covered the food bins, and escaped.

To say I felt victorious is an understatement. Maybe, in time, I won’t need the full chicken gear.

Still, tomorrow morning a rested Beau Leigh will be ready to reestablish his domain. We’ll see how it goes. For now, you’ll find me suited up, ready to flap and croak like a frog until we learn to coexist in Liz and Ron’s orange-grove farm.

The update is that Beau Leigh is as mean as ever, and I make a point of never going in now unless there is a gate between him and me. I suppose you could say I lost, or that I just decided to pick my battles with this very large and protective rooster.

Beau Leigh is the orange chicken in the photo below—he’s doubled in size since then.