Writings, Prose and Poetry
A Little Bit of Bull
By Dirnaf - 27 April 04
A few years ago we had a small herd of Herefords on the farm. They are those big red and white cattle you see in all the classic pictures of the West. Ours were all cows. They were calm and friendly, thanks to good handling when they were calves and would stand around me in an inquisitive group when I checked on them, huffing quietly in and out, their breath fresh and steaming in the air.
When they were two years old, the time came for them to meet a bull and do the normal things that bulls and cows do. We contacted a local farmer whose bull had finished his duties on his farm for the season and asked if the somewhat tired bull could visit our few cows. He was happy with the idea, but said he didn't have the time to bring the bull to us and could we come and collect him. His farm is about twenty minutes on foot from ours, so we decided to collect the bull the following Saturday and walk him back to our farm.
When we arrived, our stock sticks in hand, Colin seemed a little puzzled.
"You didn't bring the cows?" he said somewhat laconically.
"No, should we have?";
"Would have made it easier, but never mind. Here he is."
He led us to the pen where the bull was standing quietly. The bull looked at us and we looked at him. He was black all over and had a calm face. He looked quite small, much smaller than our cows. He mooed gently.
"Seems pretty quiet." I commented.
"Oh, yeah, Elvis is quiet enough. He's got a couple of funny habits but he shouldn't give you any trouble at all."
"Elvis!" I squeaked.
"Yeah. Dark, handsome and the women love him."
He grinned and opened the gate.Elvis came out. He looked a lot bigger outside the pen than he had done inside. He mooed quietly again and started off down the long drive to the road at a brisk walk, his bull-bits swinging back and forth between his legs. We followed, trotting to catch up, waving our stock sticks encouragingly, but taking good care not to get too close.
For a while, all went well. Elvis stopped occasionally to munch a mouthful of grass or to have a little scratch on a post, but he was easy to get moving again with a bit of "Ho" and "Ha." and some vigorous arm waving. We were making progress and home was getting closer and closer. David had just moved up front, in order to guide Elvis into the main gate, when the plan came unstuck.
Out from behind the thick barberry hedge lining the roadside came another bull. Elvis came to a sudden halt in the middle of the road. He stared, then glared at this rival and the rival, a much bigger and fiercer looking beast, stared and glared back.
Now, we've all heard that hoary old chestnut about bull's eyes turning red when they get angry, and up until that moment, I'd always assumed it was a bit of rural myth.
It's not.