It is the morning of September 15, 2025, and outside the Sonoma County courthouse in Santa Rosa, California, Zoe Rosenberg stands with purpose. She has just been released from the hospital, a feeding tube still in place — but there is no fear in her posture. Her voice is steady, resolute. She is not here to be silenced. She is here to be heard. And the speech she delivers — bold, unflinching, historic — will go down in the history of the animal rights movement.

Today marks the beginning of a trial that could result in years of incarceration for Rosenberg, a longtime activist and founder of the Happy Hen Animal Sanctuary. She faces one felony count of conspiracy and three misdemeanors, including two types of trespass and tampering with a vehicle — the chicken transport truck from which she removed four birds during a 2023 action at the Petaluma Poultry slaughterhouse, operated by Perdue Farms, just outside town.

Notably, a misdemeanor theft charge was dropped shortly before trial — a decision Rosenberg’s supporters interpret as an attempt to limit evidence about the condition of the rescued animals. They argue that removing the theft allegation narrows the scope of trial testimony and prevents jurors from hearing why the chickens were taken in the first place. With that charge off the table, the legal case pivots from why Rosenberg acted to how.

In a speech delivered just moments before walking into court, Rosenberg recounted the events of June 13, 2023, when she entered the slaughterhouse property after what she says were repeated, ignored pleas to law enforcement to investigate animal cruelty at the facility. According to Rosenberg, she found chickens in plastic crates — packed tightly, with many unable to stand or turn — and alleges that many were visibly sick, injured, or suffering. She describes pulling four chickens from their cages and transporting them to receive medical care. She named them Poppy, Ivy, Aster, and Azalea.

Rosenberg says the birds were found with parasites, respiratory illness, and untreated wounds. She claims they would not have been suitable for consumption and believes they held no monetary value to the company. Her legal team estimates their worth at $6 each — a total of $24, though prosecutors may argue otherwise.

Perdue Farms has denied all allegations of animal abuse and rejects Rosenberg’s claims. The company has described her and other activists as extremists with a radical agenda to disrupt lawful agricultural operations. They assert that their facilities operate within the bounds of state and federal law, and have not commented on specific claims related to the rescued chickens.

The felony conspiracy charge carries a potential sentence of up to three years, and each misdemeanor carries up to six months, bringing the total potential sentence to approximately four and a half years. However, a spokesperson for the District Attorney’s office recently told The New York Times that Rosenberg could face up to six years — a discrepancy that remains unclear.

For the past 600+ days, Rosenberg has lived under tight pretrial restrictions, including electronic ankle monitoring and court-imposed conditions. She has not been convicted of any crime, but she says she has been treated like someone already found guilty. Still, she is undeterred. She makes clear she will not apologize for helping animals she says were in distress. To apologize, she says, would be to claim those animals deserved what she saw — crates, bruises, and eventual slaughter.

To Rosenberg, this is more than a criminal case — it is a test of what society is willing to accept in the treatment of animals, and how far the state will go to shield corporate farming from scrutiny. Her supporters call it a political prosecution designed to make an example of her and to discourage others from intervening in factory farm conditions.

As she walked into court, Rosenberg called on supporters not to be discouraged — no matter the outcome. “Promise me you’ll rescue the victims of these violent industries,” she said. “Promise me, and more importantly, promise the animals, that you will fight like hell.”

For her, this trial is not an end, but a call to action. And the story of Poppy, Ivy, Aster, and Azalea — the chickens at the center of this case — will not be forgotten.

TRANSCRIPT OF ZOE ROSENBERG'S SPEECH ON DAY ONE OF HER TRIAL, SEPT 15th, 2025.
I just got out of the hospital and one of my biggest fears throughout my hospital stay was that I wouldn't be able to be here with all of you because while the next few weeks will be some of the most important weeks of my life, they are also important for a much, much bigger reason. Less than a 30-minute drive from here, nestled between a Starbucks and a subway, lies Purdue's Petaluma Poultry Slaughterhouse. The cumulative sum of suffering that has been felt in this one single place is too overwhelming to even attempt to fathom.
They confine, neglect, maim, and boil baby birds in mass. Nearly every single day, more than 40,000 chickens face unimaginable and often criminal mistreatment. Repeated attempts to report this facility's misconduct have proved futile.
After seeing law enforcement's failure to act, I took action into my own hands. And on June 13, 2023, I entered Purdue's Petaluma Poultry Slaughterhouse. A transport truck had just parked behind the slaughterhouse fence.
On the bed of this truck sat dozens of plastic crates. Thousands of chickens had been loaded into these cages like cargo, packed together so tightly that they could barely stand or turn around. Each and every one of these chickens was an individual with a personality, thoughts, and feelings.
Each and every one of them had been deprived of just about everything from the moment that they had hatched. Soon, they would be deprived of the one thing that they had left. Their lives.
I pulled open one of the crates. They slide out like drawers. Over a dozen pairs of eyes peered around, startled by my intrusion.
There was one chicken who stood out from the rest. She was small and pale. I lifted her from the cage, examining her.
I placed her in a padded bucket so we would not draw attention as we left the facility. I closed that crate and I slid open another. I removed three more chickens who appeared to be sick and suffering, and I placed them each in their own individual buckets.
I named these four chickens Poppy, Ivy, Aster, and Azalea. They were covered in scratches and bruises and small wounds. They were infested with coccidia parasites.
Poppy had an injured toe and a respiratory infection. She was choking on mucus. Aster had infected feet.
They were swollen and filled with pus. I got them medical care, and they shared their stories with the world, calling on the public to join me and asking Sonoma County law enforcement to please finally do something to address the animal cruelty and neglect at Purdue's facilities. And the rescue of these four little chickens did finally spark law enforcement intervention, just not in the way I had hoped.
Instead of investigating years of criminal animal cruelty, they set off on a mission to gather evidence on me and on what was perhaps the first act of compassion to ever be carried out within a slaughterhouse's carefully constructed walls. And so today, on September 15, 2025, I will enter a courtroom to be tried on felony and misdemeanor charges for this act of rescue. If convicted, I face nearly half a decade in jail.
I have spent the past over 600 days being forced to wear an ankle monitor and adhere to other strict conditions in order to remain out of custody while awaiting this trial. In many ways, despite having never been convicted of a crime, I have spent the past nearly two years being treated as though I have already been found guilty. Nevertheless, I will walk into trial today and every day with my head held high.
I refuse to accept that helping a few baby birds makes me a criminal, let alone a dangerous one. I refuse to accept that companies have the right to torture and kill as they please. And in this trial, I will not apologize.
To apologize would be to say that Poppy, Ivy, Asher, and Azalea deserved the fates that they were saved from. It would be to say that they deserved to shiver in a crate, covered in scrapes and bruises, as parasites consumed them from the inside out. It would be to say that they deserved suffering and death.
And so any utterance of an apology would be a lie. They deserve to be rescued. And they deserve the safe and happy lives that they now live today.
Of course, it is those safe and happy lives that they now enjoy that angers the powers that be. Every day that they survive is, intentionally or not, an act of defiance. Every moment that they feel the sun on their backs, every breath of fresh air that they inhale, and every piece of grass that they swallow is an act of rebellion.
It is an act that angers Purdue and Sonoma County law enforcement and every agency or company that benefits from the status quo. Even the FBI is frightened by their freedom. They are frightened by what their freedom and, more importantly, their stories represent.
Their stories are a reminder that every animal who is suffering at the hands of animal agriculture is someone, someone with a life worth living. Their stories are a reminder that it doesn't have to be this way, that instead of treating animals with apathy, indifference, and even outright violence, we can instead treat them with compassion and respect. And one of the things that I most wish to see come from this prosecution, from this trial, is for the world to learn the stories of the chickens who have escaped the cruel realities at Purdue's Petaluma poultry facilities.
The stories of most animals who fall victim to human supremacy have been or will be lost to history, and so we must remember the few who we can. When I took Poppy, Ivy, Asher, and Azalea into my arms, I wasn't just vowing to care for them and protect them. I was also making a commitment to share their stories and, if needed, to represent them in the court of law.
Of course, I wish that I was representing them in the context of Purdue being prosecuted or sued, but it is what it is. No matter what, the world needs to know what they endured, how they survived, and who they are. The world needs to remember their names, and the authorities desperately want them to be forgotten.
As I stand here today, I do not know what lies ahead. I am just wrapping up as an undergraduate at UC Berkeley, and in many ways my life is just beginning, but my future feels incredibly uncertain. In a few weeks, I might be a convicted felon.
I might be on house arrest. I might be in jail. I might be in jail being denied medical care that I need to survive, which is now even more concerning, as in the last couple of months my stomach has become partially paralyzed, which is why I now have a feeding tube that runs from my nose into my small intestine.
I do not know what lies ahead, but there is one thing that I do know for certain, and that is that for billions of animals, their futures are set in stone long before they are ever born. They are sentenced to die before they even breathe their first breaths. So what I am facing might be scary, but the consequences of our inaction are much, much scarier.
For the animals, the cost of allowing the world to continue as it is, is simply far too great. I believe that the future of the animal rights movement depends on how we handle moments like this, and we must not hide. We must not cower in fear.
We all have a part to play, and we must show Sonoma County law enforcement, Purdue, and the world that we will not be silenced. We will continue to take action for Poppy, Ivy, Aster, and Azalea, and every animal whose cries for help have gone unanswered. And if I do go to jail, if I lose this case and my freedom, please try not to be discouraged.
This entire prosecution is just an industry stunt, meant to scare activists and fool the public into believing that animal rescuers are dangerous criminals. I am just one person, and no matter what happens to me, hope will not be lost. Life will go on.
Dogs will wrestle in the park. Bugs will crawl forth from their homes. Yeasts will splash in ponds, and birds will sing to the rising sun.
But also, chickens will scream as the life is torn from their bodies. Mother pigs will slam their heads against the bars of their crates, desperate to protect their babies from the men who come to mutilate them. Cows will seize in pain as they are electrocuted by metal prods.
Life will go on, but so will violence. And that is why I need all of you to promise me something. Promise me that no matter what, you will not give up.
Promise me you'll take action. Promise me you'll protest. Promise me you'll rescue the victims of these violent industries.
Promise me, and more importantly, promise the animals that you will fight like hell. I know that regardless of the outcome of this trial, the animal rights movement will continue forward. It is that knowledge that gives me the courage to walk into this courtroom today.
It is that knowledge that gives me the strength to face whatever the outcome of this trial might be. Let's do this.