Joel’s Encounter With The Macho Bull And The Broken Fence
Posted: Monday, December 05, 2011
by Joel Hendon
http://hebronics.org/index.html
We normally kept around ten head of cattle back home. Three milkers, sometimes four, their four calves and a couple more yearlings and one bull…for macho purposes. The bull was a sorry thing, only ate about twice as much as a yearling and did nothing more than to satisfy his lustful desires now and then. Dad did hire him out occasionally to some one who had no bull. But for only a pittance.
Back in the early days fences were made from whatever a farmer could afford or get his hands on. Many had rail fences made of split tree trunks. But we had barbed wire fences fastened onto cedar posts. Normally it was a good fence and kept the livestock secure. But, for some reason or another, a place would get damaged, a limb might fall on it or even the running an frolicking and accidentally know a post down.
Since I was my mother’s chosen one for domestic chores, it fell my lot to milk cows, feed them, herd them back into the pasture when they did get out, etc. I grew up with all types of animals and didn’t know there was any danger in them. It was not that I was a fearless kid, but more like…foolish.
One day when my mother and baby sister and I were the only ones at home mother called to me and told me the cows were out and I needed to go round them up. So away I went. There were three cows and the bull out helping themselves to soybeans in the field. As a general rule, one can circle around the cows, which are gentle creatures, and simply approach them and they will move away from you, and by trotting to the right or left you can steer them to the open lot gate.
I was about 10 years old, mall for my age and had on my straw hat. My mother watched from the edge of our yard which was perhaps 200 yards away, and was nervous enough if all had gone well. But after I had turned the four beasts toward the barnyard, the bull let his temper get the best of him. I think perhaps that he was embarrassed to be herded and bossed around by a skinny ten year old, so I believe to save face, he suddenly decided to twirl around, lowered head, bellowed a low growl and pawed with his right front foot.
I couldn’t believe my eyes. Our bulls had never been angry or challenging like this. But, having little knowledge of how ferocious they are capable of being, simply pulled off my straw hat, charged the bull at full speed, roaring like an injured lion. It didn’t surprise me, but the bull whirled around and ran as fast as he could towards the gate, with his tail in the air. The others followed and ran in the gate.
I thought my mother would be really proud of me, and underneath she really was, but she, laughingly said, “You little rascal, don’t you ever try to bluff a bull, you almost scared me to death.”
I assured her that barefooted, I could have out run that bull easily if he had decided to call my bluff. Now I’m not sure I really could have, but I thought so then.
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Top-level comments on this article: (2 total)Reminds me of some TV bullfighting game in Spain or Madrid, Joel. "with his tail in the air" made me laugh. I think that's funny.
Proud of you too, as a kid to out-smart the animals, quite barefooted.Thank you Hilda, I appreciate your comments. I went to a bullfight in Juarez Mexico once when I was in the militaary. There were to be 5 events, but I could only sit through 2. I love animals far too much to see those things tormented so.
I once tried to be "playful" with a Holstein bull. My Uncle told me. Don't do anything. In fact get out of here and go help with the milking.Thanks for the comment Christofer. It doesn't pay to play with them when they grow older. You might enjoy reading an article which I wrote shortly after I started writing for Searchwarp. It is number swa269648, titled "The taming of the Shre...er, uh, calves"
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