A Lot of Bull

A Lot of Bull

A bull is a very dangerous animal. They are mean and extremely unpredictable. Because Dad knew that, he usually used artificial insemination on our cattle, but sometimes he would keep a bull around to do the job naturally. Dad always kept a ring in the bull’s nose with a chain hanging from it. The chain would dangle, just shy of the ground, as the bull walked around. If the bull lowered his head to charge he would step on the chain and stumble. We all knew how this worked, so we weren’t nearly as afraid as we should have been to go out into the barnyard when the bull was out. We gave him a wide berth, but we knew the chain would keep him from charging. In the heat of the summer Dad and I would take wagon loads of hay out into the pasture and unload them by hand with a pitchfork, never giving the bull a second thought. After all, he had
a chain in his nose.

A stream ran through the pasture, where we used to fish and swim all summer. We never worried about the bull though. He had a chain in his nose.

Dad used to walk out into the pasture and lead that bull back to the barn by . . . you guessed it. . . . The chain in his nose

We had a bolt embedded in the concrete wall of the stable where, when we ran out of stalls, we would tie the bull up by . . . the chain in his nose. Chains are great but like everything else they can fail.

One day Mom was out in the barnyard, doing who knows what. She didn’t see the bull coming. He walked, quietly, up behind her, put his head under her rump and threw her over his back.

You see, he never ran, he never lowered his head while he was moving and he never charged, so the chain couldn’t do its job. Mom landed beside him but she was stunned and couldn’t get up. By the time dad saw what was going on, the bull had rolled her over and over across the barnyard and under a fence.

Dad grabbed a pitch fork and drove the bull off. Mom was covered in dirt and manure and lay unconscious, under the barbed wire fence. I’m sure that fence saved her life, because the bull couldn’t get through to finish what he had started. Sore and bruised she was soon back to her normal routine, with no injury worse than a sprained wrist, but one thing changed.

Bright and early the next morning Dad led that bull up a ramp into a truck headed for the meat packing plant. We never again had a bull on our farm. By the way, Dad led the bull up that ramp by . . . the chain in his nose.