"Ten Ineffective Feet"

or

"The Running of the Bull"

 

Ok, so here's the dealio...  My sister and I rode our horses yesterday.  It was a very nice trail ride up in the foothills.  On our way up there, Dad called and told us that the guy he rents his pasture from up in the hills (Lonnie) had called and was very upset.  He'd been trying to get the bulls in and was having no luck.  There were four bulls total (2 of Dad's and 2 of his own).  He was only able to get one caught, loaded and hauled home.  Michelle and I decided to swing into the property on the way out of the foothills to see if we could spot the remaining three bulls.  It started to rain and the bulls weren't close by so we made a plan to come up the next morning and see if we could get them.  We came up with a few bales of hay, a quad runner and the stock trailer.  Lonnie had left some panels at the top of the hill so we loaded those in the trailer and took them down to the flat spot where we normally feed the cows and added them to the panels already there to make a makeshift corral.  We threw a couple bales of hay into the corral and took a quick spin up the hill where Michelle thought she'd seen a bull.  Sure enough, there all three of the misfits were.  We started calling at that point.

Calling our cows consists of yelling "COME OOOOOON!!" a few times.  You really have to use your diaphragm and belt it out.  Go on...try it....no one's listening (and if they are, it'll really make them wonder what the hell you're doing).  Immediately after a couple "COME OOOOOON"s, you typically hear cows bawling and they start to materialize, which they did.  The cows started to follow us down the hill but the bulls called bullshit and stayed right where they were.  A few of the cows followed us down to the corral and started to munch on some hay.  About this time, the gal that had helped Lonnie attempt to get the bulls in the day before pulls up next to the corral, gets out of her truck and says to my big ass, "I don't see no bulls in there".  OHNOYOUDI'ENT!!!  I shot right back with, "That's cause we don't do things the way you do em".  I believe I muttered the word "beach" or something under my breath, too.  Michelle said it's a good thing she was getting the quad out of the trailer at that point or there would have been a nasty cat fight.  I guess my comment was a bit acid cause this chick gives me the "crossed arms -- harrrumph" body language then marches off on a walk with her dog.  Nobody asked for her sorry help anyhow.  Beach.

Michelle and I loaded up on the quad and headed back up the hill where we last saw the bulls.  We got to the top and spotted them in the same location.  We drove around them slowly in an attempt to head them down the hill.  They had hooked up with one skank ass cow that must have been crossed with a gazelle and also had a crack problem.  Her head shot up and she was OUTTATHERE with the bulls hot on her heels.  I'm not sure how Michelle did it but she launched herself off the quad and somehow got between the bulls and the cows which effectively separated them.  The bulls immediately found some trees with low branches and did what we call "brushing up".  They get in under the trees and...well...pout.  It makes them very difficult to move.  Michelle and I reformulated our plan.  We decided to leave the quad and follow the bulls on foot.  Slooooowly, we moved them.  We just let them walk and kept heading them off until we got them headed in the direction we wanted to go.  I'm guessing that, although sounding quite retarded, the baby talk Michelle was using was working because they calmed right down and headed towards the corral.  After a bit of a hike and some ass sliding in mud on some pretty steep hills, we finally arrived at the corral and the bulls went right in.  We split them off and loaded them in the trailer just as wonder girl was getting back from her hike.  Michelle said I should have told her, "Weeeeelllll, I still don't see no bulls in the corral...oh yeah...that's right....that's cause THEY ARE IN THE TRAILER!!!"  Heh heh.  I didn't.  I'm too nice.

Here's where the story gets gooooooood though.

So we get them down to my house.  We had called Lonnie and asked him where he wanted us to take his bull.  He said Wheatland, so we unloaded all three, split Dad's two off and got ready to load the third one back on the trailer.  We started to push him toward the trailer and... he just up and decided he was done and he was gonna take it out on me.  Uh huh...Rondazon....six feet of red cape for 2,500 lbs of beef.  He turned around and came at me like a freaking semi running down a jack rabbit.  I made a beeline for the fence and started to climb.  I made it to the top board when...BAM!!!...he hit me.  He hit me sooooo incredibly hard on the left thigh.  Remember when you used to give your friends "the dead leg" by socking them on top of the thigh?  Yeah, like that only sooooo muuuuuuch harder.  It knocked my feet out from under me and I fell in the mud right under his nose.  He found this to be quite to his liking.  As I got to my feet and started to climb again, he took the opportunity to hit me square in the middle of the back and break out one of the corral boards with me.  I think that's when the cartilage separated from my ribs.  Needless to say, I fell in the mud in front of him again....this time wondering why the hell I couldn't breathe.  So, I get up and start climbing again.  This time I made it just a teeny bit higher and he took the opportunity to smack the bulls-eye that I must have had on my ass with the top of his head repeatedly.  On the third bounce, he launched me over the top of the fence.  By the way, I've never been able to do a cartwheel and I'd like to thank his big white ass for teaching me how.  It sure was a good damn thing I had a nice cushy slime filled water trough to land in.  Forty freaking acres of corral and he launches me upside down and backwards into the nastiest water trough on the property.  Michelle said she got there just in time to see me surface and green water come shooting out of my nose.  Just call me Orca.  She happened to miss the rather confused frog jump out of the space between my jacket and t-shirt as I shot to my feet.  "Are you ok?!" she yelled.  "I'm standing", I said, "but I can't bend my left leg to get out of here".  I did the once over body check and was still breathing and quite mad and adrenalated at this point so we took that opportunity to finish loading Butthead.  He finally got in when Michelle threw a river rock at him the size of my head.  It bounced off of his head and it must have hurt enough to convince him to get in the trailer.  I spent the rest of the afternoon drinking away the pain.  That was A LOT of beer.  I wound up having to go in the next day for x-rays.  I had a hematoma on my left thigh the size of a grapefruit.  I couldn't even get my Wranglers on for a week.  And that cartilage will re-adhere to the ribs that are flopping around....right?  DAMMIT!!

Have I mentioned?  I hate moving bulls.

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