Bull Tapping

Chalk this up to stupid kid tricks. After all, we were only 16, most of us anyway. We had a dumb one who was a year or two older. He didn’t get picked on about it. Being a tad older meant he was bigger than the rest of us, especially me. Not that I was the runt of the litter or anything. Well, perhaps I was.

This wasn’t a one time only stunt. We used to do this regularly on Saturday nights when there was enough moon to see. It wasn’t a ritual or anything, it was just something we did for fun.

Our community has grown so much since then, that this entertainment is no longer available to the 16 year old boys of today. The fields are no longer there. Apartments replaced them. Any parents of adolescent boys shouldn’t sigh away that apprehensive breath yet. They do dumber and even more dangerous things today. You know how it is. Teens have a searing desire to outdo those who came before them. Not everything changes, just the toys.

Out on Old Memorial Highway, there was a corral that was about a hundred feet across. There were only two things of note in that corral. In the center grew a rather large live oak, spreading shade over half the corral. Under the live oak lived a rather large Brahma bull. Since we did this trick at dusk, the bull could be under his tree in the waning shade from the departing sun. Sometimes we would find him strutting around the corral.

The stupid trick was to jump the fence and touch the bull. We called it bull tapping. The real trick was to get back over the fence without a boost in the butt from a ticked off Brahma bull.

In this part of Florida, it was common to see cattle foraging in the fields of dog fennel and broom sage. We knew them as scrub cattle, and they looked the part. There was often a bull or two, along with the cows. There was always what we called ‘cow birds’ on the backs of the cattle. I learned in biology class in high school that the cow birds were a type of wild crane who picked the ticks and other noxious vermin off the cattle.

I never knew why this bull was in a separate corral away from the other cattle. Maybe he was special. Maybe he was just mean. There was nothing else around this corral, either. No houses, no streetlights, just the corral, the tree, and the Brahma bull. That was why we only did this trick when there was a bright enough moon casting light on the corral. We never drew straws or tossed coins to decide who was going first. We egged each other on. If we had a new guy with us, well, you guessed it. He got egged into going first. Occasionally the new guy wouldn’t believe we really did this and would refuse. After calling him all kinds of a yellow-bellied sapsucker, one of our faster and dumber buddies would jump the fence and tap the bull.

This was reminiscent of a Native American tradition called ‘counting coup.’ The great plains Indians did this as a point of honor. A brave would win prestige within his tribe by touching an enemy during battle. It would humiliate the enemy who got tagged. It required the brave to get away unscathed. We didn’t know this history then. All we were doing was bull tapping on a Saturday night. We never considered we would humiliate the bull. We didn’t think he was that kind of bull.

Often the first guy had it easiest. The bull got surprised, and it was easier to make a clean getaway. It was easy when he was nearer the fence, too. After a while, the bull wised up. Then we would distract him by shouting and banging on the corral fencing, while the tapper would slip around to the opposite side and attempt to tap the bull. Sometimes you failed. Sometimes the bull heard you trying to be stealthy, and the race was on. It didn’t matter to us if you failed to tap him. What counted was you had the guts to get in the ring with him and try. Be warned, bull tapping is best done sober.

Reflecting on this stupidity, it is mind-boggling to me that none of us got seriously killed, or even hurt doing this. There was one evening though when Spud Winn got treed by the bull and got stuck there until the bull went to sleep. Spud didn’t wait until the bull was distracted or near the fence before he went into the corral. Maybe he thought they were friends. Spud had already touched him twice in the past. He hopped over the fence and walked right up to the bull. No sneaking around the back, just boom! In your face kind of thing. The bull was lying under the tree, just eying Spud as he boldly sauntered up, violating all our collective knowledge of proper bull tapping etiquette. The bull gave a big snort, stared at Spud, and lumbered to his feet. There was nowhere to go but up the live oak. None of us had ever seen Spud move that fast in his life.

I think the bull enjoyed the game as much as we did. Why else can you explain how come the bull never caught us? I think after seeing us come around for several months, he would put it together. I think he enjoyed the company.