Little bull goes a long way

Bill woke up in a cloud of twilight, the clock read 6:00 but he didn’t know if it was am or pm. His head was throbbing and his legs felt like tree limbs. What happened?

Trying to recollect the last thing he remembered—he was road testing his new Ducati V4 on the back roads, in Humboldt County, he slowed down to climb a hill on a curved road covered with redwood trees and patches of sunlight making spots on the road disappear and reappear. Then a blinding flash, and blackness.

He laid awake staring out in the darkness trying to gather his wits, no clue where he was or how he got there. The door opened just wide enough for Margie’s head to peak in and check to see how her guest was doing. She had been checking on him every couple hours.

“Well hello” she opened the door and stepped into the din. “Look who’s awake.”

“What happened? Where am I?

“You’re in the Reeves home, Gordon and Margie, I’m Margie” she giggled. You’ve had an accident on the road out front of our house. When we heard Clyde’s bellow—Pa’s prize bull—we knew what happened, we discovered you flat out on the road. The wheels on your motorbike still spinning, and Clyde was gone. We figured what happened he was running downhill on the road you were climbing, waiting to charge you head on and knock you off your bike. He’s clever-mean like that.”

“Is he now. Bill said without smiling. “Is he alright? I mean did I hurt him?.” Worried he might have killed a valuable bull, no matter how mean.

“Nah, he’s used to it, he’s learned just the right spot to start his charge to do the most damage. It keeps his testosterone levels charged—the mama cows love it.” He’s sired some of the finest Holsteins in all of Humboldt County. She said with a modicum of pride. Clearly Clyde was a beloved member of the Reeves homestead. ”It’s awful hard to control 1500 pounds of mean.”

“It’s what he does, it’s how he get his kicks, Lord he’s an ornery bastard, kids on bicycles have learnt to keep their distance. They don’t ride on this road anymore.”

“Well can’t you keep him locked up? It sounds like he’s a menace” Bill said trying to sit up but discovered his arm was screaming with pain. He groaned out loud.

“Now, now your arm is broke. Lay still. Doc Stache is on his way and he’ll fix that arm up proper and new.” Margie continued. “That’s the problem—every lock we’ve installed—Clyde has figured out how to open. He’s obsessed like those dogs that chase cars, he’s a ballsy bastard, literally.” She giggled. “We’d get rid of him but he’s the best stud in the whole county. Just gotta put up with him being mean and stubborn.”

“And smart” Bill added. ”What about my bike?”

“Well, about that,” Gordon popped his head in the door. A burley man taking up every inch of his 6’ 2 allotment of space. “It’s got a few scrapes but nothing bent or broken.” “We can fix that, not to worry. I put it in the barn,”

He seemed like a nice, reasonable guy, Bill began to relax. He saw the light on in the other room and decided it must be six-thirty p.m. then he realized that nagging feeling in his gut was hunger—the smell of pot roast filling the room made his mouth water.

Outside by the barn, a bawling came from Clyde, a long slow bellowing yowl boasting a warriors victory. Mama cow gently bumping her head into his with lusty approval. It’s not that different with people.

A knock at the front door sent Margie out to welcome, Doc Marley, or Doc Stache as he was fondly nicknamed. He was the towns all around medicine man. Mostly his patients were folks living in the rural back woods. He fixed everything from broken bones to birthing large animals and small humans.

A short—stout almost indescribable man with thinning hair and a bold, neatly groomed handlebar mustache—for which he obviously spent an inordinate amount of time training and waxing until it became a euphemism—the locals knew him fondly as Doc Stache. With so much care given to something that simple, Bill felt he was in meticulous hands.

Another bellow from Clyde as he rammed a fence post, causing a cacophony of sounds from the barnyard. Moos and bleats, maws, honks, cackles, clucks and hisses, all joined in as back up singers in Clydes performance concert. Clyde was the barnyard heartthrob—a regular Rock Star lothario.

“So Clyde did this to you? Doc said with a grin “You’re lucky it’s just a broken arm. He’s done much worse than this when his hormones take control.“

“Well this will do.” Moaned Bill his arm getting wrapped and plastered. “How long before I can be on the road again?”

“You’re a hearty young fellow so shouldn’t take more than a month.” he smoothed the last bit of plastic bandage and slipped a cloth sling he pulled from his kit around Bill’s neck to hold it in place. “ Lucky it was your left ulnar that got broke, you’ll still be able to feed yourself.”

Except Bill was left handed. I guess it’s time to become ambidextrous he mused. Trying to maintain a positive perspective. I got rammed by a bull. How many times would I be able to say that in my lifetime? “How long have I been out?”

“About four hours, do you need to call someone? You’re welcome to stay here in our spare room however long you need to. It was our fault after all.”

“That’s kind of you. I am on summer vacation.” Bill was an Animal Husbandry instructor at Humboldt University, doing research and studying alternative solutions to GMO crops. School was out for two months and vacation was just starting. The irony of being a bulls fearsome nemesis was not lost on him.

He was actually looking forward to meeting Clyde eye to eye, maybe he could solve the mystery of his orneriness. Anger was not a natural trait—it had to be learned, and then unlearned. Maybe it was providential if he could bring some peace to this tormented creatures life. Not to mention lessen the wear and tear on passing motorists.

After a delicious meal, and enjoyable conversation where they exchanged histories, accomplishments and dreams. Gordon and Bill became amiable buddies. Bill had some interesting theories about crop management, and production of domestic farm animals, Gordon found his views informative. Equally interesting was Gordon’s stories about the perils and rewards of running a farm. Which Bill saw as an opportunity to exchange practical experiences first hand.

Margie was a lovely agreeable woman, still attractive in a leathery wholesome way. Bill liked them both very much and felt he had made longtime friends. This was his first teaching job and he was new to Country living, having received his education at the University of Davis near Sacramento. He was accustomed to the rush he got from the city, and frequently drove his bike to San Francisco for weekends.

He moved to McKinleyville three months ago and was subletting an apartment from one of the instructors who was off exploring the jungles of South America finishing his PHD. So Bill was looking for a more permanent place of his own when summer was over.

“Well you’ll stay here.” Gordon said putting his big hand gently on Bills shoulder—he was starting to feel fatherly towards him. “There’s a very cozy apartment above the barn, nice and private, needs some fixin’ and dusting. But the shower works and the kichen is modern, and we’d love to have you stay. Surprisingly Bill felt as if being nearly gored by a bull was somehow fortuitous.

The following day Bill checked out his Ducati for damages. The leather handle grips got the worst of it getting scraped along the pavement, some scratches on the seat fortunately the carbon fuel tank protector was un dented. Not bad, he started it up to hear it purr, that was fine. The sound of the engine alerted a call to arms for Clyde, it was his battle cry, he came tearing around the barn heading for the red Ducati dragon in his sights.

This time he was determined to crush his foe. Bill pressed the extra loud air horn he installed to warn truckers he was coming along side not to swerve and hit him. The horn blasted loud enough to stop Clyde in his tracks. Ha! That’s the secret. No longer intimidated by his size, now that he knew he cowered at loud noises, Bill calmly approached Clyde putting out his hand for him to snif and see for himself there was no fear.

Bill moved in closer gently rubbing his forehead, “yes, you like that don’t you.?” There was a determined fierceness in Clydes eyes, almost as if he were in some kind of pain. Bill noticed a swelling and carefully touched the side of his jaw. Clyde bellowed in pain. “Hey boy let’s take a look at your back teeth, prying his mouth open ever so gently. There it was his gum was red and swollen it was infected and Clyde must have been in constant excruciating pain.

Bill told Gerald about the tooth and Clyde was going to need antibiotics and novocaine so he could pull it out. “So that’s what has made him so cantankerous. It must have been a long time building up. Gordon pulled out his cell phone and called Doc Stache to tell him the news and ordered the medicine he needed.

Gordon took Bills good hand and vigorously shook it to thank him. Problem solved. Even Clyde sensed this was all on his behalf and in an uncanny way seemed calmer. Gordon scratched his forehead and put his own forehead on Clydes. You could see the mutual admiration they shared. Bill was going to like living here—bonding with Clyde and his new friends, he was looking forward to a Gloriously Serendipitous Summer.