The Fenced Bull

Being a dairy farmer, Grandpa sometimes needed a bull for his herd but the need was so occasional he didn’t own one.  He would make arrangements to have the bull brought to the farm.  For the time he was needed, he was kept in a separate corral made of large, thick split tree rails laid horizontally on top of each other and fastened to deeply rooted and very thick posts.  It wasn’t pretty but it was very sturdy and easy for boys to climb.  The bulls fascinated me.  Their size was so impressive.  They had massive necks that looked as though they could lift anything.  They would snort and paw the ground.  There was no question they meant business and it was business I wanted no part of, having been warned by both my parents and grandparents of the danger.  But as I got older and friends would come with me, edged on by youthful daring, we began to climb into the end of the corral opposite of where the bull stood.  He didn’t particularly like this.  He would look at us and make a fuss and sometimes start a charge which caused us to scurry back up and over the fence to safety.  As we grew older and more foolish we became more daring.  We would climb into the corral and then inch closer to the bull.  The adrenaline would start pumping and our hearts would begin pounding faster.  Our senses were alert and attentive in a way I was never able to replicate in school.  I wonder now what we could possibly have been thinking, or perhaps even if we were thinking, but there we were, inching progressively closer to the bull in some misguided effort to assert our bravery.  There surely was a line of no safe return that we didn’t want to cross, but the game involved getting as close to that line as possible without crossing it and still being able to safely reach the fence before the bull reached us.  We had to judge the distance, our speed and his speed, and the relative time it would take for each to reach a conclusion.  We never stopped to consider that one misstep by any of us could have resulted in serious injury or even death.  We were fortunate far beyond our foolish wisdom.  It was amazing that none of us were ever hurt in this daring game.  I think we all climb into the bull corral at one time or another, whether by choice or circumstance.  Taking time to observe all the variables in play, if possible, is preferable to just jumping in ignorant of potential outcomes.  Knowing where to draw that line of no return is critical to a successful and fulfilling outcome.  Sometimes our bravery, masked as foolish optimism,  overrides the reality of a situation and causes us to trust more in the inflated estimation of our abilities than in the speed and power of the bull.  It’s a dangerous game.