All the good times are past and gone

“She left me for some lawyer up in Meadville. Probably some pencil dick that could eat corn through a picket fence. Some suit-wearing gelded cocksucker. I guess after four years of living with me she needed to give that cooter of hers a rest.”

The man behind the counter laughed a bit, “Shit,Tommy, you can always get you another lady to look after the house and such.”

“I’m done with women for now,” Tommy said. “They’re all like rattlesnakes with tits. I’m gonna give my ol pecker a rest. Anyways, I like the quiet in the evenings. You live with a lady and all she wants do is talk. About practically nothing, most of the time. I’d rather watch paint dry, milk my own peter, and pass out on the couch with the TV on.”

Jimmy was grinning listening to the old man. He had come to the feed store to get some coyote repellent after losing three chickens in the last week. Bowlegged Tommy saw the repellent on the counter and said. “I don’t know why you’re wasting your time with that stuff. A rifle works a hell of a lot better.”

Jimmy turned. “They’ve been coming at night; you telling me you can hit a coyote in the dark?”

Tommy straightened and his chest stuck out. “Shit. Damn straight, son. Last winter I sat up out in the bay of barn with a bottle of corn liquor and my Winchester. Got three of those sommabitches while they was lurkin around my hog shed. One come out the sackcloth door with a little piglet in his mouth…. Shit. I got a new night scope. One shot to the head, “ Tommy smacked his hands together. “ Coyote dropped flat right there, little bacon seed fell out of its mouth and ran back inside squealing like it was on fire. Had coyote brains all over it. “

“Bullshit.” The man behind the counter said as he smiled.

“I swear on all four inches of my man meat!” Tommy said. Jimmy and the man laughed.

Tommy turned his whiskered face to Jimmy. “You ever do any roping, kid?”

Jimmy looked the old man over. Tommy’s forearms bore dark scars, and bulged out the end of his rolled flannel shirt sleeve. His tight faded jeans made his bow- legs seem all the more distant from one another. A large belt buckle with a turquoise longhorn on it sat under his gut.

“I got a bull loose out on my property,” Tommy went on, “Ol bastard went down into a ravine over the steep side of the mountain behind my place. I can’t get to him. Hell, I can barely get to the piss pot lately. I need somebody to come out to my place and get him.”

“I’ve done a bit of roping,” Jimmy said. “Worked a farm over in Buckeye for the past two summers, castrating and wrangling. A bit of riding and herding.”

“Shit, I never castrated John David. Named him after two of my uncles. He’s a hell of a stud. Probably why he got out again, looking to spread his seed. He’s nineteen years old but got a set of balls you wouldn’t believe--his sack looks like big two groundhogs stuffed in a burlap bag.”

Both Jimmy and the man laughed.

Bowlegged Tommy went on, “ He used to be a mean bastard, if he turned on ya, you had to have some fire up your ass, or he would tear the goddamn hell out of ya. That’s what happened to little ol Pedro a few years back. He tried to put pressure on and John David charged him. That bull tore a goddamn chunk out his thigh big as a baseball, and sent him flying clear over the fence. Ol Pedro, he was one tough dude. He went right back up to that bull and had him in the pen before he ever thunk about that bloody leg of his.”

“Where is Ol Pedro?” the man behind the counter asked.

“Hell, if I know,” Tommy said, “A month back he told me he was tired of the cold and the cows. He wanted all his back pay at once. Damn near wiped me out. Said he was headed down to Mexico and gonna lay on a beach somewheres, sip cervezas, and watch ladies swim in their bikinis.”

The man behind the counter nodded, picturing the scene.

“Pedro was one of the best hands I ever had. But shit, I only got John David now. I sold the other stock off a few weeks back at the auction down in Liberty. Didn’t make half what I thought I’d get. Now I only got a few hogs. A goat. I still see the rooster poking around. Even with these bandy legs of mine, I can handle most of the work. But this damn bull running off….”

The man behind the counter grunted, “Yep. That’s a job there.”

“Son.” Tommy was talking Jimmy again. “I will give you two hundred dollars to get John David back to my barn. You wanna give it a go?“

Jimmy was quiet for a moment. Two hundred dollars would help get his old truck running again. The new head gasket was gonna set him back five hundred at least.

“I can do it tomorrow,“ Tommy said.

“Kid, I hope you got an extra set of balls on you,” the man behind the counter joked. “You bound to need em.”

“Don’t go discouraging my new cow hand.” Tommy said, throwing a bag of grain over his shoulder. Then he nodded his head toward the door. “I got a green Silverado parked out back, come on out and I’ll write you up some directions to my place.”

After Tommy walked out, the man behind the counter turned to Jimmy and smiled. “Don’t let him get you killed.”

Jimmy drove down to the old man’s place as the sun was breaking through the early October morning. He followed the stone driveway back past the barn, and Tommy was sitting on the front step of the old house, sipping coffee and whiskey from a clay mug. There was an old radio playing inside, and mandolin was drifting out of the house.

“Goddamn, it’s cold as a wedge out here this morning. You want a little shot of whiskey, kid?”

“No. I’m good.” Tommy said and his breath was visible in the crisp air. The old man pointed over to the barn, and there was an old Honda three-wheeler packed with gear sitting next to some broken siding.

“I know right where he is, “ Tommy said in between slurps of his mug. “There’s an ol apple grove over that second hill there. That’s where he holes up when he runs off. Hell, that ground back there is just covered with apples. He ‘s liable to be drunk when you get to him.”

Tommy pointed past the pig house. “There’s a path runs up that way. Couple cut backs on that first hill are nasty, be careful taking those if you don’t want to tip and roll right over.”

“I know how to drive a three- wheeler,” Jiimmy said.

“Best damn better know, kid. Listen, when you get over the first hill, path cuts off to the right, you can clear the ravine on a little ol bridge down there. You’ll see it. Might have to leave her on top of the second hill and walk down to the apple grove.”

The old man took a long drink until the mug was empty.

“I got you some sugar and a little bag of grain in the pack. That’s a good rope, too. If you can get that bull to take to the sugar, you can walk him like a baby out of that ol’ grove. He’s got a halter on his head, so if you can get rope through that and down through the ring, he’ll work with ya. Once you get him back up that hill, put pressure on him from behind slow and steady and you should be able to drive him back here.”

“ I hope to damn hell it’s that easy,” Jimmy said.

“Me too, kid.”

Jimmy made it up to the top of second hill after forty minutes and killed the engine. Three buzzards circled high above. He followed a steep trail down to the left, and passed through some thicket and found himself suddenly in the midst of twisted and withered apple trees. The smell of rotten apples made the air taste like vinegar. Bees buzzed everywhere.

He made his way still further and then he saw John David: a large shadowy mound lying at the base of an old tree. Jimmy could tell even from that distance that the bull was dead. He got closer and saw bloody red bite marks and tears where claws had torn through the dark brown flesh. Coyotes had got at him sometime only recently. He had probably died yesterday, Tommy thought. The flesh that still hung to the bull’s leg was pink and flies had only newly began to settle. The head was cocked side-ways and the dead eyes were still wide- beginning to bloat like cloudy bubbles ready to burst.

Something must have run those coyotes off, Tommy thought, and looked around thinking that something might still be hanging around. Probably a black bear. The rifle was still up on the three -wheeler. There was nothing to do but go back and tell Tommy what he found.

The old man was still sipping whiskey and listening to bluegrass when Jimmy rode up, left the three wheeler sitting by the barn and walked over to the porch. He hated having to tell Tommy that John David was dead. But the old man spoke before Jimmy even had to say anything.

“Goddamn kid, don’t look so somber. Did the coyotes do him in?”

“That’s what it looked like. How’d you know?” Jimmy said, relieved that he hadn’t started the conversation

“I hear em out there at night. You’d think there was a Cherokee pow wow over the hill. Like war cries.” The old man looked in Jimmy’s eyes.

“Was he pretty tore up?” Tommy said, taking a sip.

“I’d say so.” Jimmy said softly.

“Shit, coyotes took down four of my dad’s heifers years back. Said they were all shredded from tit to toenail.” Tommy paused, and cleared his throat. “He told me he bout broke down the morning he found em- he and my ma had been eating farina for six months straight. Times were hard then” Tommy paused, remembering, “He had to work for ol’ Bill Baylor for next six months just to get his ass out of the mud.”

“This was your old man’s farm?” Jimmy said.

“Hell kid, this to be 500 acres. He sold that hill over there years ago to developers.” Tommy looked off to the tree lined mountain to the west of his house. “They still aint done nothin to it, so it feels like it’s still mine.”

Jimmy turned and looked out past the barn toward the hill he’d just come down.

“I’m gonna mount his horns on the side of the barn.” Tommy said suddenly, pulling some wadded bills from his flannel pocket.

“You don’t have to pay me, Tommy.”

“Like hell, kid. You came all the way out here. You come back in a month or so and get them horns for me?”

“Sure thing, Tommy.” Jimmy put the bills in his jean pocket.

“Have some whiskey, kid.” Tommy said. He stood up slowly, and made his way toward the screen door to go back into the house.

“It’s one shit show after another, son.”

“Don't I know it,” Jimmy said, following Tommy into the house. There was a fiddle drifting from the radio, and the late morning wind blew cool around the wooden porch.