Just walking across the barnyard was getting  harder for Beto.
    Early in the morning, before the rest of the young chicks were out of bed, Beto would make his way over to the cracked corn. He would scurry along the fence, duck under the pig pen and come out just next to the feeding trough. And if he was lucky, Feisty the Rooster would be perched on top of the hen house crowing at the  rising sun instead of pecking at the younger roosters.
    Beto’s mother was a quiet hen who did her best. She had lots of other chicks to mind, but she tired her best to listen to Beto when he came to talk to her.
    “You don’t  have to worry about Feisty,” she told him one day.
    “But, Mama, he’s so mean. They don’t call him Feisty for  nothing.”
    “Alberta! You stop that this instant. Leave your brother alone! Ethan! Get off that nest! Those are Mrs. Wilson’s eggs! Be careful! Alberta! What did I tell you? Somebody tell Maggie to get down from the rafters! She’s  acting like a rooster up there.”
    “Mama?” Beto said, “I’m  scared to go across the barnyard anymore!”
    “Chico! I want you and Alberta to play outside. I don’t care if you’re having fun. The hen house is not the place—what did you say, Beto? Ethan and Oscar; outside, too! I’d tired of your  foolishness. Now scoot! All of you!”
    Beto filed out of the hen house with the  his brothers and sisters.
    “Beto’s scared of Feisty! Beto’s  scared of Feisty!” they all sang.
    “I am not! He doesn’t scare me and I’ll prove it to you one day. I’ll walk with him  across the barnyard and prove it to all of you!”
    With that,  Beto turned and strutted away.
    But it wasn’t true. Just like all the other chicks, Beto was scared of the big rooster. After all, he was mean and he was big and he had a wicked sharp beak and claws that just wouldn’t stop. And it wasn’t just a matter of keeping out of his way. No, Feisty was always looking for other chicks to pick on and he didn’t care who you were or where you were going or how hungry you  were.
    And on this morning, Beto was carefully making his way to the cracked corn. Suddenly the first rays of the sun lit up the barnyard and Beto heard something loud and proud. [SOUND: rooster crowing]. That had to be coming from a  roof top. The coast had to be clear.
    Beto stepped up the  cracked corn and lowered his head.
    “Hey! You! What are  you doing?”
    Before he could get his first bite, Beto looked up into the squinting eyes of none other than Feisty the   Rooster.
    “Me?” Beto asked.
    Feisty was huge. He was all claws and beak with one eye that glared at everything. His feathers seemed to glow in the morning light. On top of his head was a bright red comb that shook every time the  rooster moved his head.
    “Yeah, you!” Feisty snarled.  “What are you doing in my corn?”
    “I . . . I didn’t . . . I didn’t know this was your corn,” Beto stuttered. “I thought . . . I  thought it was for everyone.”
    “Well, you thought wrong!”  snapped Feisty.
    Beto thought he noticed something about Feisty. That one eye, the one that glared at everything, was locked on Beto. Without waiting, Beto jumped straight up in the air, spread his wings and flapped as hard as he could. His hunch was correct. Feisty slashed at the very spot  where Beto had been standing.
    Now Beto headed back for the pig pen and ducked under the fence just in time. He could hear Feisty’s claws scratching the wood just over his head. Beto had no choice but to run into the most dreaded  place for a chicken: the pig pen.
    It smelled horrible in the  pig pen but Beto was so scared he didn’t notice much.
     “What are you doing in here?” Boris the Hog grunted.
    “Oh, excuse me,” said Beto breathlessly. “I’m being chased by  Feisty the Rooster.”
    “Chickens! Why don’t you take this  outside. I’m busy right now.”
    “Busy?” Beto asked. “You’re  just laying around.”
    “One creature’s busy is another creature’s boredom,” Otis muttered. “If you must know, I’m  swatting flies.”
    “But Feisty the Rooster is trying to get me.”
    “Shoo, chicken,” Boris said. “You’re making me burn up  my fat just standing there.”
    With that, Beto dashed out of the pig pen and ran straight across the barnyard, in a bee line. It was not the best way to go but if he could just get to  the hen house, everything would be alright.
    In the middle  of the yard, Beto could feel the rush of wings behind him.
    “Now I’ve got you!” came a voice that was a cross between  a rip saw and a chicken grinder.
    Feisty tripped up Beto and the young chicken tumbled in a pile of feathers on the ground. When Beto opened his eyes, Feisty was standing  over him, beak raised up high in the air.
    “Hold on there,  Feisty,” came another voice.
    The tough rooster wheeled around to see an old bantam rooster standing behind him. It was Old Charlie, Beto’s grandfather. But what good could he do? He was old and Feisty was a much tougher chicken.
    “Let the youngster go,” said Old Charlie. “He doesn’t  mean any harm.”
    “This is none of your business,” Feisty  said.
    “Sure is. That’s my grandson you’ve got pinned on the ground. Seems to me you’re being the bully around here. Heck, Beto’s a fine young rooster but he doesn’t mean any harm. Besides, you’ve got to share this place with the  others. That’s just the way it is.”
    Beto stood up as Feisty  stepped back.
    “Well, since you put it that way,” Feisty  said.
    The mean rooster shrugged his shoulders and   walked away.
    “Grandpa!” Beto said. “Thank you.”
    “Aw, he’s not as bad as he seems,” Old Charlie said. “But you’ve got to stand up to him. Don’t let him know you’re afraid. You see, Feisty thinks he’s got to be the toughest rooster in the yard to protect himself. He doesn’t know much of anything except how to be tough. You’ll be the head rooster around here someday, too. How are you going to treat the others?”
    “Just like Feisty? No, I’m kidding Grandpa. I know better  than that.”
    “You better be kidding, Beto!” his grandfather said. “That’s what I love about you. Almost got your eyes  pecked out and yet you have a sense of humor!”
    Things got better. Towards the end of the summer, Feisty the Rooster just disappeared one day. Some said a coyote got him. Others thought maybe his crowing was too annoying for the farmer and his wife and they had the rooster for  Sunday dinner. No one was sure.
    Since there was an opening for the head rooster, Beto gladly stepped in. He was a little young but he had a good head on his shoulders and he did a great job. Before long, Beto was given a new name that reflected the new feeling in the barnyard, Friendly the Rooster. His mother, sisters and brothers and especially his grandfather still called him Beto, but the barnyard was a much better place.