Activism And Going Too Far

It wasn’t my idea to let a bull into the arena. Not really anyway. But here I am in the balcony, watching it run rampant through the large, empty space, destroying everything it can.

A statement. A way to share that we don’t agree with the antiquated processes here. That we don’t want the misunderstood animals to be used as a source of entertainment.

I look to my left and see Abigail there, eyes burning with excitement and rage. Her fiery personality exemplified by her wild red hair. She’s the reason I’m here. She’s the reason I get this, why I no longer question only the safety of a cowboy, but also see the bull as the abused.

She turns for a moment and offers a smile of reassurance to my still uncertain demeanor. We are committing a crime to prove their crime against animals.

As Abigail draws her eyes back to the scene unfolding below us, I follow suit. As I always do. The arena below is a façade that’s an ode to the entertainment they provide. A gaudy display of visual appeal. The large lobby has a marble circular barrier that is meant to mimic the rusty metal bars of slavery in a rodeo. Artistic cowboys on bulls made from stone portray a hero in those who can ride the creatures for eight seconds.

Our live bull went after one of the bull riding cowboy’s already, and as if to show us what it’s thinking, the bull is still standing. The cowboy is not. But now the immediate threat of a new place has diminished, the beautiful animal is now calming down, no longer rearing and kicking in anger and frustration. Now it’s aimlessly walking through the space, probably curious about why it’s here.

It’s here for a message. Stop mistreating animals. They don’t get to mistreat you, not unless put under a pressure cooker situation, like a human strapped on their backs and whipped to aggravation.

This bull has been rescued, taken to a field where he can live the rest of his life, scars remaining to remind us all of the torturous life he had before.

But now, now I stop to think. Did I just help commit a vandalism? And did I just put the bull at risk and harm it by removing it from the comfort of a flower covered field?

The answer is no doubt yes. But now we are here, committed. Trying to make a point.

“How will we get him out of here? Maybe it’s time for us to leave?” My thoughts slip from my lips before I realize I’m saying them.

“Not yet. It’s not time yet. We want the executives to get the message. To really get it,” Abigail says with such tenacity it’s unsettling.

“What about the bull? We just brought him here to destroy. But what if he gets shot? What if we get arrested and he’s taken by animal control?”

There’s a long pause. Abigail doesn’t like being wrong, and I may have just put a wrench in her plans. I’ve never betrayed her before. Never questioned her intentions. But I’ve seen her wrath when others have.

Now, I wait for the other shoe to drop. She’s kept me as her right-hand woman for a long time, entrusting me to support her with all her activist endeavors.

I can’t stand looking at her, her jaw clenching and unclenching without a response. So, I look down at my hands. They are shaking. It’s only when I hold them up that I realize my lip is also quivering in a silent sob. This is breaking my heart.

We’ve gone too far. Now, I want to make it right. I want to be the true animal lover I swore I’d be. I’m going to rectify this, even if Abigail doesn’t like it.

“If you won’t help me get him out of here now, I will do it myself.” I turn and leave the balcony, slipping to the exit outside where we’ve parked our trailer and barricaded the doors. Another prison for this magnificent creature.

I’m not sure how I’ll do this without causing more undo stress, but I’ll try. I unlock the chains and quietly pull the doors open, then dart to the cab of the truck, quickly throwing it into reverse until the entrance is blocked by the back of the trailer.

Carefully now, I slide the window in the back of the cab open, and climb to the bed of the truck, where I then force my body through yet another window on the trailer. I gather some carrots up in the center of the trailer and lower the hatch. The ramp makes a loud crack as it touches the intricate tile flooring below. The bull turns and stares at me.

For a moment I’m frozen. I may be trapped, a victim to the animal trying to defend himself. He’s been wronged, and he has every right. But he doesn’t move. He only stares. Then Abigail’s voice fills the arena.

“Get out of there Lauren.” It’s an ear curdling shriek, and one that triggers the bull. It dashes in the other direction, toward the sound of her voice. Though he can’t reach her, so far above.

I take the opportunity to wriggle through the window again. Every second it takes I am more consumed by fear, and my breathing speeds with the pounding of my heart. I may die today.

Then I’m through the window. I slam it shut and wait. I shouldn’t have done this on my own. But nobody else would remove themselves from the confines of Abigail’s presence. Their fearless leader, who we all fear.

I wait for what seems like an eternity but is only a few minutes in actual time. Then the sound of hooves on metal alert me of the bull coming into the trailer. It worked! He’s not even angry.

Bravery instilled in me now, I jump over the cab of the truck and slip through another door a few feet away. The tile clicks under my shoes, no matter how hard it is to stay quiet. But the bull doesn’t move from the trailer.

I tap the button on the side of the trailer, and the hitch goes up without any objection from my comrade inside.

I return to the truck and pull away, now committing another crime. Theft of Abigail’s truck. As I drive down the road toward the farm, I can’t help but wonder if the bull knew the trailer was the only thing that could get him home, to safety and security. He trusted me, an activist that went too far.