Freedom

The bull was furious, raging. You could hear the anger in his huffing breath. You could see its rage in the way it pawed at the ground. It was angry because it couldn't get out, because it was being taunted by humans. It was being taunted and mistreated by the very people the bull relied on for food, shelter; the very same people that healed it when it was hurt. They kept it locked up in that pen, and it was furious.

The boy kept his distance from the fence. He had watched the bull be mistreated time and time again and he was tired of it. Who cares if he got in trouble? He didn't care. He could hide in the woods for a few days and wait until things cooled down before coming home. They probably wouldn't know who let him out. They would probably think someone left the gate open.

The bull would be happy out in the wild. If he opened the gate at night, maybe the bull would be long gone by the time they woke up in the morning. Maybe the bull would know to run as fast and as far as it could so as not to get caught. It can find some bull friends out there in the fields and be happy. It won't be taken to those damn bullfights anymore!

The boy was always sad when he saw the truck come up the driveway. He knew the bull would be gone for a few days and when it returned, it would be all bloodied up and have a defeated look in its eyes. The boy wished he could take away its pain, heal it and make it feel better instantly. But he knew it would take a few days for it to heal. Or more if the wounds were particularly bad.

Last time was particularly bad. He heard his father talking to his mother after the last time he treated the bull.

“Esta vez si que lo han maltratado. Hice lo que pude, pero no se si fue suficiente. Solo el tiempo lo dirá” he said.

He had done his best; he didn't know if the bull would survive this time. Only time would tell. This time he had been heavily wounded. His father was the town vet. He hated bullfighting; thought it to be a barbaric tradition. But he was glad that at least he was there to care for the animal.

However, the boy who had inherited his father's compassion and his mother's passion, felt that healing the bull was not enough. The bull was healed, then it would be taken again to confront the Matador and it would return badly wounded. Only to be healed and sent off again. The boy feared that one day it would not return. One day those wounds would not heal. The boy just couldn't allow that to happen. He had to do something and fast. He overheard his father talking about the next bullfight which was next week and that meant the bull would be picked up soon. Maybe even tomorrow.

So, there he was again standing near the bull pen. Watching the bull while it paced restlessly, looking for a way out; like it usually was. Getting angrier and angrier as time passed by and it had no success in finding a way out. Then it saw the boy and it got angry, raging. The bull began pawing at the ground and huffing.

The boy looked at the bull with compassion, love. The bull looked like it was about to charge. Then seemed to think about and its behavior changed. It stopped huffing and pawing at the ground. Its rage died down and it looked tired and helpless. It walked over towards the boy and huffed gently as it stopped at the gate. It moved his head at the boy as if in greeting.

The boy smiled and moved closer to the pen. The bull lowered its head, as the boy got closer. Almost as if it was welcoming the boy, inviting him to move closer. Instinctively, the boy knew he was safe and put his foot on the bottom railing of the fence to get closer to the bull. The bull huffed again and did a little jump as if trying to communicate its happiness to the boy.

The boy reached out towards the bull slowly, and the bull pushed his head against the boy's hand. The bull had a wiry tuft of hair on the top of its head that felt softer than it looked and was full of dirt and hay. Flies buzzed around the bull and the boy swiped at one that tried to get into the bull's eye.

The boy looked at the bull’s big brown eyes and wondered how long this bull had been submitted to this kind of torture. He wondered how an animal could resist so much pain. The townsfolk always said this bull was a brute and dangerous animal. They were all scared of it. The boy wondered what they would say if they could see him now.

The longer the boy stood there, straddling the fence and petting the so called "raging” bull, the more he understood that this was an intelligent animal. An animal that was a product of its environment. An animal that reacted to the way it was treated, or rather mistreated. And here was the proof. This "raging” bull was allowing a stranger not only to get near but also pet him. The bull knew this boy meant no harm.

The bull looked tired and worn out. Its body was riddled with scars and he could see there was one near his eye that seemed very recent. That must’ve been one of the last scars his father had treated. It was neatly sewed closed, but it was still an ugly gash. A few inches to the right and the bull would’ve lost his eye. In that moment, the boy decided he would do it. He would let the bull go.

He stopped petting the bull and the bull huffed in protest. The boy got down from the fence and walked towards the gate. There was no complicated lock on the gate. Only a simple latch stood between the bull and its freedom. The boy was standing there looking at the latch. It was so simple, yet so complicated. He still hesitated and wondered if the bull would indeed be better off on his own.

He looked at the bull, and the bull looked at the boy. Its eyes told the boy what he needed to know. Anything was better than this torture. And with a final sigh, the boy unlatched and pushed the heavy gate open.

As it swung open, the bull stood there dumbfounded staring at the open gate. It cocked his head to the side as if saying “are you serious?”.

“¡Dale, Toro, dale!” the boy insisted impatiently. Go, bull go! But the bull wouldn’t move. The boy bravely walked towards the bull slowly, with his hands up in surrender as if saying to the bull that that he wouldn’t hurt him.

The bull huffed and looked at the boy. But it didn’t' move. It didn’t attack the boy, nor did it run away. It just stood there. As the boy approached the bull, it relaxed slightly and moved towards the boy’s hands as if it wanted to be pet again.

The boy walked to the bull's side, opposite to its wounded eye so that he could make sure he was being seen. He slowly placed one hand on the bull’s head and with the other gently nudged the bull towards the open gate. The bull reacted and began moving slowly, pushing its head against the boy’s hand.

The boy guided the bull out of the gate and stopped petting him. The bull pushed at the boy’s side. The boy moved in front of the bull and waved his hands towards freedom, urging the bull to go. The bull looked at the boy, then looked out towards the field and huffed. He shook his head and huffed again. It started to move forward again, slowly and this time alone.

Then suddenly, the bull huffed and looked like it hopped a little bit as it realized it was free! Then it began to run; it was charging down the field. In the light of the moonlight the boy could’ve sworn the bull was skipping its way to freedom. The boy brushed tears of joy from his eyes as the bull stopped just at the edge of the clearing and turned back to look at the boy. In the moonlight, the boy wanted to believe the bull had winked at the boy, but of course that was impossible. It turned back and started to run as fast as it could, until it disappeared in the distance.

A few years later, the boy, who was now almost a man, was on vacation visiting some family a few towns over from where he lived. He was bathing in a lake with some cousins when he heard a scream. “¡Un Toro!” yelled his little cousin. It was a bull standing at the edge of the lake, not too close to them, drinking water. The young man’s first instinct was to protect the little ones, so he hurriedly ushered them into the opposite direction and told them to run into the house.

He heard the bull huff, and at the familiar sound turned to find the bull staring right at him. He froze for a moment and wondered could it be? He moved towards the bull and saw the bull shake his head and move slowly towards him. As the young man got closer, he could hear someone in the background yelling for him to get away, to run to safety. But he ignored the plea and continued to walk towards the bull.

The bull was now a few feet away from the young man and began moving towards the young man quicker now, it seemed excited. It huffed and shook his head as it walked. The young man felt his skin erupt in goosebumps as he saw the ugly scar above the bull's eye. It was the bull he freed when he was a kid!

He stopped then and let the bull approach him. He raised his hands in front of him, in the form of surrender the same way he had done all those years ago. And just like that first time the bull bowed his head a little and pressed his head into the young man’s hand. The man petted the bull and felt the wiry tuft of hair on the top of his head. The bull huffed and pushed harder against the man’s hand.

They looked deep into their eyes and the young man saw love and gratitude in this old bull’s eye. The bull seemed a little smaller than he last remembered, but maybe that was because he was bigger now. Or maybe it was because he wasn’t so heavily fed like he was when he had to fight the Matador. Either way, the bull seemed happy and overall, free.

Suddenly, a shot rang out and it startled the bull. The bull quickly turned and ran away as fast as it could in the direction of which it had come. The young man turned and saw that his uncle had shot in the air to scare the bull away. He turned back towards the animal and saw him reach the edge of the clearing and slow down. And just like the last time he had seen the bull, it stopped and turned slightly to look at the man. The young man could’ve sworn it was a wink or maybe it was just the sun in his eye. Then the bull turned and continued to run, as fast as he could, into the distance; wild and free.