Fujiology Archive/fujiology_archive_v1_0.iso/!MAGS/TRYST/TRYST12.ZIP/TRYST12.MSA/TEXT_BULL.WAL/TEXT_BULL.WAL

Text File | 1998-12-13 | 4KB | 76 lines

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                       J A C K   A N D   T H E   B U L L

                                   ---oOo---

                          a true story from Rod Henson

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The first thing I must tell you,  dear reader,  is that this really happened.  I
was twelve years old when I went to stay with my Aunt May and Uncle George,  and
that was when I met Jack K.,  who had come to the village after the First  World
War.  We did not know his age but I guess he was in his late 80s. He was a life-
long bachelor,  and even at that age he was tall, muscular, and with very little
fat on him.

I  met the bull for the first time when I went to help my uncle with  the  cows.
The  bull was very,  very big to a twelve year old,  and had horns,  but he  was
placid  with everybody but Jack.  I had seen Jack walk round the outside of  his
pen,  always keeping his eyes on the bull and with the bull keeping his eyes  on
Jack.  All  I can tell you is that the bull had gorged Jack two years  before  I
came  to  the village.  So there are the characters of the story I am  about  to
tell.

It  was  a brilliant summer day when the Boss of the farm said he was  going  to
move the bull from the field with the cows as he had done his job.  So along  we
went to back up the lorry to the gate.

Now,  for all you readers who know nothing about cows,  this is what should have
happened.  We'd drive the bull up to the gate with the cows,  and then  separate
the  bull from the cows.  That's alright if the bull wants to do  that,  but  he
didn't and five times we drove him up to the gate and five times he put his  two
front feet on the ramp of the lorry and then turned and ran off with the cows.

At this time,  dear reader,  I must tell you that the Boss had sent Jack off  to
the  next field.  So,  for the sixth time we drove the cows and bull up  to  the
gate,  separated the bull from the cows, and for the sixth time he put his front
feet on the ramp.   And at that very moment Jack came out from behind the  fence
and,  with a stick two foot long in his hands, lunged at the bull's rear end and
caught the bull's balls with all the force he could muster.  In all my 56  years
of life I have never seen an animal jump so high and so far.  He jumped so  high
that his head hit the roof of the lorry and so far that he hit the front of  the
cab before he crumpled down on the floor.

We all stood there for a full 30 seconds as Jack walked away,  looking over  his
shoulder  saying "That's got you you B*******!  That will teach  you  B**!!**!".
Then I started laughing.  I laughed till the tears ran down my face and my sides
ached, and when I looked up there was my uncle holding onto a fence post and the
Boss leaning against the side of the lorry.

Old  Jack died two years later,  and the bull followed four  months  later.  The
night before the bull died he was very nervous and kept looking behind  him,  so
my uncle said, "Jack's ghost?"



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That's one hell of a story,  Rod, and if everyone else laughs as much as Liz and
I did, then I think it'll be one of the successes of this issue. But as for that
two foot stick of Jack's.... ouch! It brings tears to my eyes.

Thanks  as well for the hedgehog advice,  and especially for the tip  about  not
keeping  him  on the same food all the time,  and giving him  some  minced  beef
occasionally.  That  makes  sense and it'll make it easier for to adapt  to  the
'wild' again. (If you can call a tiny garden in Bournemouth, 'the wild'...)




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