Brian Burns

Ask any tourist about Pamplona and they’ll mention the Running of the Bulls. But ask a true aficionado—someone with genuine afición—and they’ll correct you immediately: it’s the Running of the Roosters, thank you very much.

So What Happened to the Bulls?

The short answer? Nobody really knows. The long answer involves a particularly embarrassing incident in 1847 when the company transporting the bulls managed to send them not only to the wrong town, not only to the wrong province, but to the wrong country entirely.

That’s right—England.

To this day, no one knows how you accidentally ship livestock to a completely different nation. The invoice clearly said “Pamplona, España.” Somehow they read it as “Plymouth, England.” Were they using a map drawn by a drunk cartographer? Was the delivery driver just really committed to taking the scenic route? The world may never know.

What we do know is that the transport company—Hermanos Delgado & Sons—never worked in Spain again. In fact, their final invoice, still preserved in Pamplona’s municipal archives, includes a handwritten note from the mayor that roughly translates to: “You had ONE job.”

Meanwhile, back in Pamplona: empty corrals. A restless crowd that had been drinking since breakfast. And the town mayor, Don Alfonso García-Mendoza, sweating clean through his ceremonial sash and muttering prayers to every saint he could remember.

Why Roosters?

When Mayor García-Mendoza found himself staring at empty corrals and a mob of increasingly belligerent festival-goers, someone remembered that a shipment of oversized roosters happened to be passing through town that very morning. They were headed to a poultry exhibition in Barcelona (yes, apparently that was a thing), but desperate times called for desperate measures.

“How dangerous could they be?” the mayor reportedly said—famous last words that would echo through the centuries.

The roosters were “borrowed” (the Barcelona poultry exhibition is still waiting for them to be returned, by the way). They were released into the streets. Chaos ensued. The crowd went absolutely wild.

And just like that, Spain accidentally invented an entire sport. Within a decade, rooster fighting had become a national obsession. Specialized breeding programs emerged. Training academies opened. Montoya’s Hen House became the premier destination for rooster fighters with true afición.

All because some bulls took a wrong turn to England.

The Modern Era: Enter the Supreme Roosters

For decades, the Running of the Roosters maintained a certain level of controlled mayhem. Yes, people got pecked. Yes, occasionally someone would trip and end up covered in feathers. But it was manageable chaos.

Then some genius decided normal roosters weren’t dramatic enough.

The Supreme Roosters—a new breed engineered to be “bigger, stronger, faster”—made their debut just a few years ago. These weren’t your grandmother’s chickens. These were poultry on a mission. With razor-sharpened beaks. And what witnesses describe as “genuine bloodlust in their eyes.”

The first Supreme Rooster running resulted in numerous fatalies, four fainting spells, and one American tourist (who shall remain nameless, but his initials are Robert Cohn) learning the hard way that “they’re just big chickens” is a phrase that should never be uttered in Pamplona.

The Afición

To truly appreciate the Running of the Roosters, you must have afición—that untranslatable Spanish word meaning a deep, almost spiritual passion for the sport. Montoya, proprietor of the legendary Hen House hotel, keeps photographs of all the great rooster fighters who possess this quality.

Disrespect the roosters? Your photo gets burned in the fireplace.

Show up wearing a battery-powered “I Dance, You Stare” t-shirt? Montoya will shake his head in disappointment for days.

Visiting Today

If you’re planning to attend the Running of the Roosters, here’s what you need to know:

• The roosters are released at dawn, announced by a rocket that sounds suspiciously like a rooster’s crow
• Do NOT say “how dangerous could they be?”
• Respect the afición or face Montoya’s judgment
• The Supreme Roosters are no joke
• Seriously, we cannot stress that last point enough

And whatever you do, don’t confuse it with the Running of the Bulls. The bulls haven’t been invited since 1847, and frankly, their feelings are still hurt about it.

¡Viva los gallos!