Now, let me be perfectly honest: I hate my rooster. And I’m fairly certain he hates me, too. No matter how many treats I try to bribe him with—mealworms, scratch grain, kitchen scraps—he’s unimpressed. To him, I’m not the benevolent chicken caretaker who provides food, water, and fresh bedding. No, to him, I’m the enemy. The intruder. I must be eliminated.

If he could wield a tiny sword, I’m pretty sure he’d already have challenged me to a duel at dawn.

The Daily Battle With an Aggressive Rooster

Every morning, I walk out to the coop with my bucket of feed, pretending like it’s just another peaceful day on the homestead.

But he knows.

Oh, he knows.

From the moment I unlatch the run door, he’s crouched low, wings spread, calculating his next move.

Sometimes he comes in hot—spurs first, beak snapping. Other times he plays the long game, circling me like a feathered shark until I let my guard down. It’s exhausting living in this constant state of poultry paranoia.

And yet, this is classic aggressive rooster behavior. Many roosters see their humans as rivals rather than helpers, and protecting the flock is hardwired into their nature. While it makes for some comedic (and occasionally painful) encounters, it’s also what makes them so valuable.

Why I Keep Him Anyway

As much as I grumble, stomp my boots, and mutter under my breath about his scheming ways, I know there’s no better rooster to guard my flock.

He’s vigilant—always scanning the skies for hawks, or the tree-line for foxes. He’s brave—never hesitating to charge at anything that looks suspicious. He’s protective—making sure his hens eat first, dust bathe safely, and return to the coop at night.

The hens may think he’s bossy, but they follow his lead without question. Predators think twice before circling overhead when he’s on duty. And if a stranger even looks in the direction of the coop, he sounds the alarm before I’ve even noticed.

He may hate me, but when it comes to protecting hens, he’s a hero.

Managing Our Complicated Relationship

We don’t have a warm and fuzzy relationship, but we do have an understanding: I’ll keep feeding him, and he’ll keep guarding the flock. And maybe, just maybe, one day he’ll stop viewing me as his arch-nemesis. (But I’m not holding my breath.)

Until then, I’ll be the person tossing scratch grain like a nervous zookeeper—equal parts amused, annoyed, and grateful for the most hateful, hardworking rooster a homesteader could ask for.