Bedtime Fracas

Sometimes a long day full of disappointment and rejection can send you to your roost with a sense of powerlessness.
In the morning before I let the chickens out, I can hear Buck's list of grievances being aired on the other side of the door, and the sympathetic, but by now probably somewhat automatic responses  of his ladies.
I have set up a daunting maze of tree limbs near the coop door so that I can open the door and nip behind them, thwarting him in his quest to begin the day by hurling himself at my shins.
Tonight I was going to clean out the water dish and refresh it, but I didn't get that far.
Buck went in first, and the hens followed one by one, Pearl racing across the yard at the last minute.  I closed the big door and went around to close the little chicken door, not noticing that the big door had not closed properly, but had swung wide.

Headed back to the house, I heard a tattoo of  rooster feet behind me.  I grabbed a piece of plywood and turned to face down the feral chicken.  Instead of Buck's usual response to armor, which is to attack, he stopped dead in his tracks.  He looked confused.  He mumbled.  He attempted to get around it to the other side.  I moved it to mirror his movements until I had exhausted his capacity for strategy.
If only other unforeseen challenges were as easy to deflect.
I'll be ready in the morning though.  Buck does not forget.