A necessary evil, but I do like to eat so I have to shop sometime. But it makes blogging tough. So here’s just a little slice of my life . . .
The Old Bull
As I come out of the trees I catch sight of him from a long ways off, a big bull, an old bull, silhouetted on the hill, not a cow in sight. He’s busy eating in the dissapating heat of late afternoon. His broad red shoulders were dark with black biting flies.
I calculate the distance; he isn’t too far from water at the creek and it is downhill but . . . it’s uphill all the way back. I guess it to be almost 2 miles to the oiler. Yup, he’s hiding but hiding in plain sight.
I ride closer and he doesn’t notice for a long time, until I’m only yards away. He looks up but he looks unsure. I don’t think he knows what I am on my big yellow horse. He rumbles, that low bull sound, letting me know who and what he is. Then he begins lumbering towards me, slowly, deliberately, not threatening, but not hesitating.
“Hey bull!” I have to let him know what he’s dealing with. The collie with me should have given that away. He stops. I don’t. Again in my gruffest voice I call a little louder, “Hey Bull!”
I carefully gage his reaction and measure my distance not wanting to get in that dangerous zone, head to head with a giant that out weighs me and my horse together, by at least twice. Soon I ‘ll have to stop. I can feel my muscles tense and my horse’s ears flick backwards towards me. He wants to know my plan.
My plan? It’s always the same: to have a good look and to make sure I have the bull’s respect. Every time, every bull must be challenged and must move away from me. Every encounter is a time to train for respect. Respect translates into safety for I know how comparitivly fragile I am.
I count on the my tapederos to add some size to the object my horse and I make together. I count on my horse’s speed to get me out of the danger zone in time. I count on my observation skills to judge when to move forward and when to retreat.
I focus on everything around me, weigh everything, the bull is only part. He focuses on everything, weighs everything, I am only a part.
We are getting to that zone. I can feel my horse wanting to stop. I nudge him with my heels. His head is raising higher in anticipation of flight.
“Hey bull!” I make it as threatening and aggressive as I can make it sound. I draw myself up to my full height and move my head slightly sidewards. It’s instinctive, a habit gained from watching bulls approaching other rival bulls.
Will he back down? He has to back down.
I see a change. I get ready. He turns his huge head and his massive shoulders follow. He’s turning and moving away from us. I have won . . . this time.