Rumination

The first time I ever laid my eyes on a bull was when I went on retreat to the countryside. It was rather lucid the way the massive pasture of emerald green lapsed over and up into the chilly violets, blues, and ivories of the range in the foggy distance. Truly, this was a paradise for most. A place that we picture in oil paintings was very much real in front of me with the brushstrokes aptly moving about from the gentle breeze or to graze upon the grass. The only reason I picked this place above all others was that I knew that I could have time to myself.

I was never up early enough to encounter the farmers that owned these few hundred acres, but I was lucky enough to witness the cattle moving about. Brown, gray, and black, each animal seemed to have their own unique coloring that made them special. I refrained from approaching, as I knew that the beasts can be quite skittish; I simply admired them from afar. I took note of their cliquish nature. Like us, they always had their groups and the individuals that they fit in with. We always separate ourselves as people by hobbies, interests, and background. I wondered for a while how cows, a fellow mammal, separated themselves as such. Perhaps it had something to do with a particular patch of grass they fed on.

What little fencing was there kept the bull at bay. I approached and leaned on the fence as I watched him do the same as his female counterpart: graze upon the section swathe of the land he was given. He was a hulking mass with umber-colored fur. Two bone-white horns projected from his head. Other than his size and boney points, he wasn’t much different than the heifers and cows beyond the fence. The feeling that one gets when peering out a window from high in a building began to churn in me, making me uneasy. The idea that I was merely a few two-by-fours away from becoming gored by a beast three times my weight was certainly not an appealing one.

There was a quaint little house where I had been staying. The old siding was sun-bleached yellow and it was topped with a simple gable roof. A lovely hooded porch with a couple of old wooden chairs and a window that peered into the kitchen. I turn the door handle and duck my head through the door frame, looking about the place. It smelled like fresh lumber and the walls were decorated in black wallpaper with lovely floral arrangements. It was peeling in places but, in spite of that, it was still lovely. I let myself through the doorway to the kitchen where I had a small kettle whistling loudly. I fetch one of the lipstick-stained mugs from above me. As I look to the cupboard to grab it, I spot a strange sight outside of the window: a man in a suit speaking to one of the farmers. They were beside the farmer’s two-story home. It was painted a blue similar to that of a cloudy sky. I saw the farmer point in my direction and I felt my heart begin to beat so vigorously in my chest, I feared it would burst. I abruptly stepped away from the window to retrieve my suitcase. The only chance I had was to hide until I could get to my car.

I carefully pushed the door to the back porch open and peered out to see where the suit was headed: straight down the path on the hill to my temporary quarters. I allowed him to reach the door so that I would not be seen before making my move. Crouched low, I made my way to the bull’s pen. It began to huff as it saw me skulking about. It began to slowly move towards me as I sidled the fence’s perimeter. I peered back at the house to see the man had already begun searching for me inside. As I turned my head back towards my destination, the bull had initiated his charge. I made a feeble attempt to leap out of the way before I felt one of the beast’s great horns dig deep into my belly. I felt a blinding pain as my organs burst like balloons and yet I could not bring myself to scream.

At last, like the bull, I knew freedom.