What Utter Bull-Trap.

Bulls are supposed to be returned to the breeding herd around June 7th. June plus nine is equals to calving on time. It’s a shame that those two words rhyme. Franz and Ferdinand had been hanging out in the swank and exclusive bull pen all spring. Out of sight and out of mind. They liked it that way. My dad has always rounded them up all on his lonesome. Years of working cattle and a complete lack of fear made it a simple task. For him.

The first night Rusty, Haley, my mom and the helpful neighbor lady spent about an hour and a half alternating between herding them to the corner of the lot where the livestock trailer sat and jumping out of their way when they ran at us. It was a complete failure. I might have mentioned aloud something along the lines of the bull being wholly unable to make it through the high-tensile fence. My bad.

The second night I recruited some manly, testosterone-filled men to help with the chasing and to have a lesser occurrence of all that ‘jumping out of the way’ nonsense. After an hour of the futile yammering and running after them Ferdinand had had enough. And calmly walked through the fence. Turns out, two thousand pounds of bull flesh goes where it wants. With Ferdinand out of the field it was a cinch getting Franz loaded.

Much more running and chasing of calves and bull ensued. Hours worth. Finally a neighbor with experience showed up and helped me direct Ferdinand into a barnyard. That was days and days ago. He’s still out in the same barnyard. I’ve made a bull trap out of some rope and the aforementioned trailer. I’ve also repeatedly flubbed the capturing my bull. All I can say I’ve accomplished is that I can get him to eat hay out of my hand while I pet his head (it’s covered in thick curly hair). I give him two more days before he walks through one of the fences currently holding him and goes a-rampaging and raping and pillaging the around countryside.