Ambush

May 3, 2026

Have you ever been attacked by an animal?  Not a gnat or mosquito, but a real animal that might be just big enough to do some kind of damage?  It looks a lot different when we’re swatting off a bug than when something much larger has both our upper and lower extremities flailing about, as we gracelessly struggle to switch into some type of primal, hyper-defensive mode that we probably can’t access– eh, being attacked by an animal ain’t what it used to be.  

Most people living in developed areas in the West would respond with, “oh, definitely a dog attack”- and, statistically, this checks out.  But what animal, other than a dog, could we imagine attacking us?  A Cat? Seems like a fairly close second to the K-9, maybe more scratches than bites; Goat?  What, with petting zoos and sticky little fingers and all… 

A cow would probably be funny, until it’s not; a squirrel, prairie dogs, a snake? Eeek!

Moose? Pretty terrifying; 

Penguin?  Maybe;

50 penguins?  Absolutely terrifying.

A bear? Goodnight Irene.

Don’t get me started on anything that could attack me in the ocean.  

Perhaps I am easily startled and a bit jumpy when it comes to things flying around my head or popping out of the bushes when I’m in the garden (or swimming beneath my feet where I can’t see them); and as silly as it all feels, these reactions exist for a reason.

Luca

One morning last month, I was rounding the corner of our street on the first leg of my daily run, pushing my 4-year old in the stroller and listening to “The Sound of Music” on our portable camp speaker.  I had been jogging this route for probably two years now and had taken a liking to the free-range chickens, turkeys and pheasants that our neighbor always had wandering about the adjacent front lawns and driveways, cawing and crowing in the day’s first light.  

For reference, this was the same neighbor who kept a full-sized, adult horse grazing in his front lawn for the better part of those two years (this is a normal neighborhood with regular houses and yards, not in any way a rural farm subdivision or whatever).  Nevermind the big birds just squawking and scuttling out of our way as we would breeze past, with it being a literal ranch house now, this horse was surely something to behold– and to be reckoned with, even after we got to know her. 

I remember seeing Luca (the horse) on one of our family strolls around the neighborhood like it was yesterday: “Stay close kids…Is that…is that a horse??”.  Do we keep walking?  Do we acknowledge this massive, powerful creature just standing listlessly in some guys’ front yard?  Shall we dare cross the hastily strewn, skinny orange construction tape to pet it?  

Something about Luca standing 3 feet away from a Honda Civic told me that she was probably cool (I have no idea why); but still, her head was as high as the gutters on the house and she looked like she could pulverize the Honda in an instant, if she wanted.  I guess I’m just not used to being around horses, but the size of this animal had me questioning whether or not I should just stop and walk whenever I got to her yard, for fear that she might giddy-up and try to race me down the block.  Would a horse do that sort of thing?

While I was glad for Luca that she was never tethered to anything, every morning I took the corner (I still ran), every second that we went past the property upon which she was grazing, I had my eyes on her like a hawk – although, sometimes she was at the house a few doors down, which this guy also owned and rented out to someone who agreed to a reduction in monthly payments if Luca could just hang out and graze upon his lawn at intermittent periods; or I guess whenever the grass was getting too long.  At least the renter didn’t have to mow. 

Turns out, she was a ridiculously friendly and loving creature, albeit out of place.  Over this past winter she had to be removed from the neighborhood and probably over to some confined stall or boring old pasture where she could no longer greet the mailperson by chomping on grass and staring at him; or look away from pedestrians and passers by, while unloading a 6 lb dump on the recently planted day-lilies.

Cock Blocked

We were still missing Luca on our morning jogs during recent weeks, when we noticed  that one of the roosters in the bird gang seemed like he was becoming friendlier when we would run by; for each time we turned the corner, he would trot his way out into the street and “run” alongside us for a few feet before fluttering back to his domain.  I considered that this guy probably misses his big old buddy and even joked that we should get him fitted for some sneakers and a tank top so that maybe he could join us one of these days. 

Last week I learned that this would not be the case; besides the fact that birds probably don’t like wearing shoes or tank tops or running, he was also not becoming friendly.  First, it was just a few light pecks at my feet as he flanked me, before retreating.  The next morning he jumped at me, flapping his wings and trying to peck me higher up.  While drawing my knees up in defense of my nethers (and with zero pride) I may have even tried to weakly snap-kick it a couple of times, thankfully to no avail.    

By the end of the week, feathers would be flying and I was legitimately terrified of taking a spur to the eyeball; as the bird flapped and stabbed higher, my arms got involved in this violent saga, while Julie Andrews belted out “The hills are alive!…”.  I might have even yelped.  In an instant we found ourselves running off to safety, as I peered over my shoulder to see it crowing triumphantly in the middle of the street.  

My wife, Jessica, found this to be utterly hilarious, even more so when I challenged her to “Go walk up there.  See what happens and how you react!”.  I was (facetiously) broken, but not defeated.  So I took to the internet and typed “what to do when a rooster attacks you?”.  These were the results:

(a)Never turn your back or run from the animal- Whoops.

(b) Use a large stick, broom or PVC pipe to create space between you and the animal– So run around the neighborhood with a giant pipe in my hands, got it;

(c) Use a spray bottle– Containing what?  I suppose I could just spray water on it and use the rest to mist myself for the duration of my workout…what’s next, a selfie for my Gram?

(d) Make yourself bigger; I’ve heard of this said in heroic tales of standing up to bears, but have you ever tried to make yourself appear larger than a bird?

(no mention of refraining from blasting musicals through camp speakers on a tranquil Spring morning- damn AI). 

Jessica laughed some more when I told her about my little research project and then asked me why I don’t just go running in some other direction; Why do I have to keep running down that street?  Our neighborhood is vast, with a lot of loops and ways about; and for some reason, I do just keep going that way, every day. 

Playful Problems

I know exactly what might be lurking in the early morning shadows of a Pin Oak or behind some work truck parked in the street; yet, here I am, still running up around the same corner of the same block like the village idiot, baiting the same demonic bird with invasive, thundering show tunes as I puff along with my only daughter in tow.

Am I trying to challenge this little beast in an effort to assert my superior human dominance over it?  Should I have done this weeks ago, when the innocent bird first came curiously trotting up to us?; kicking at him and yelling “bwahhhhh!  Beat it ya filthy little fucker!!”.  I would have both looked, and felt, like a complete lunatic; instead, here I am playing defense and looking no less ridiculous than if I were initially attacking him.  Should I tell him I don’t even eat chicken?  Should I have started going a different way?

If these were actual human neighborhood bullies, would I still go down that street?  Hell no, especially not with my child; so what, then, do I have to prove to this bird or to myself or to my 4-year old?  If it was a true problem I would contact the owner or the proper authorities in order to resolve it.  Perhaps I’ve stumbled into the rarely acknowledged, playful problem; you know, the kind we love to complain about, while we’re secretly getting a kick out of it.

Maybe in a way I’m trying to spice up a sometimes mundane exercise routine; maybe I’m engaging in this little feud with the rooster for mild amusement, an entertaining experience that I could even share with friends or colleagues to enliven a casual conversation; or maybe it’s just a relief to try resolving differences with a being who doesn’t talk incessantly or complain or blame all the other birds, he just belts out “cock-a-doodle-doo!”.  Come on, that’s just adorable– although I might need to speak with HR about the pecking. 

Country Ninja

I know that if I had grown up on a farm, I would have been able to subdue the animal like some sort of country ninja; I also know that tomorrow morning, just like Luca the horse, this rooster could be gone (I’m honestly surprised he hasn’t been run over by a car yet); next week it could be a goat or a cat, 3 years ago it was the German Shepherd across the street and the other day I witnessed some unexpected lightning just a little too closely.  

These things can certainly function as obstacles or excuses, if we allow them to; but the point is, there will always be someone or something appearing to stand in between us and our ambitions- and tomorrow, it could be us.  We can surge forward and face our menace(s) head on; we can take a slightly inconvenient detour and still get close enough to where we need to go; or we can lock ourselves inside and declare the world as unlivable.  

I’ve heard people list countless excuses for not doing something difficult or adventurous or outdoorsy or even healthy: bad weather, bum knee, an upper respiratory condition, allergies, or when all else fails, the ever popular “I don’t do [blank]”.  These aren’t as comical as a menacing rooster frenemy, but they effectively work in keeping us out of trouble, and on the couch– which, I believe, is for the birds.  

Life, without adventure and folly, is boring.  Risks are worth assessing– but risks taken can often provide us with immeasurable rewards; that’s why they don’t always have to make sense.  So, what, you might ask, is the reward for intentionally running past a territorial rooster every day?  I don’t know, but yesterday I kind of let out an excited giggle before breaking into a sprint when he came bouncing out of his yard toward me; surely that’s something.