The Walk Home is Longer When There's a Bull Behind the Wall

"It's a bull!" Logan shouted, eyes wide and wild. I couldn't believe it!

We had moved out of the city that summer. As I was in fourth grade and responsible, Mommy said I was in charge of walking him home from school, since he was just a first grader and we didn't have any friends yet. That long, horrible walk, uphill both ways, through wind and snow and whatever else would face us in this new world of California suburbia. Maybe an earthquake or a wildfire. But, a bull?

A pinkish cinder block wall separated us from something big. Some kind of smelly, scary animal. From the horrifying sounds coming from that backyard, it had to be huge. A man-eater for sure. Wait a minute, what did bulls eat?

Grunts and snorts sent the hairs up on the backs of our necks, just like they say in books. I wanted to cross the street, grab Logan's hand and run across, but the instructions from our parents had been drilled into us. We had to stay on this block, go down this street. An unwavering rule. We practiced the trip home from school twice with Mommy. Yesterday, on the first day of school, she came to meet us. But there wasn't a bull behind the wall on those days.

That wall was long, it must have been about 60 feet long, or maybe a mile. Terrifying guttural sounds grabbed our innards and twisted them relentlessly. We looked at each other, our eyes equally wide and wild. GO!

We took off running down the sidewalk alongside that wall as fast as our legs would carry us, the leather soles of our oxford shoes slapping the concrete. The staccato of the slapping soles mixed with the angry, deep moaning sounds from beyond the wall added to our panic. Logan was just ahead of me, I had to bring up the rear because I was responsible. I watched his Transformers backpack with Optimus Prime's red face bobbing up and down as his arms pumped and he ran much faster than I thought was possible. I was lucky I didn't wet my pants. We passed the end of the wall and heard the bull crash into the wooden gate at the end.

Somehow, miraculously, it held.

We ran the rest of that block, only slowing down enough to look both ways, hold hands, and fast walk across the street at the stop sign. We ran another half block before we felt secure enough to slow down. My side hurt. Sweat had broken out on Logan's head, one wet drop making a trail down the dust on his cheek. I could feel cold sweat under the Barbie and Friends backpack that I was wearing. Breathing hard, we walked two more blocks to the white house with green trim and the purple flowers that Mommy called Lily of the Nile, then turned right. Another block and turn right, and soon we were walking up the pathway to our front door. Our happy yellow house had Birds of Paradise plants with angular orange flowers. The suburbs had very exotic flowers.

"Mommy! Mommy!" we yelled, bounding through the front door and dropping our backpacks. She greeted us with a warm hug and the promise of warm cookies. What a relief, home safe in her arms! Like sixty, we both yelled out the details of what had happened to us.

"A bull?" she asked, feigning surprise and wondering what Logan, with his often overactive imagination, had gotten his older sister to go along with.

She sent us out to play until dinner time. Secure in our backyard, on the creaky swing set, we wondered if our cinder block wall and wooden gate could hold back a charging bull. Just in case it might chase us all the way home.

When we went back inside for dinner, Daddy was home with his feet up in his Lazy Boy chair. He looked over the top of the newspaper, let out a long, low "mooooo," and gave us a wink.

"Daddy!" Logan cracked up. Although he thought that was funny, I was mildly insulted. This was serious business, not a joke. He saw that I was upset, and held out open arms. We both ran to him, smashing the newspaper as he scooped us up into his lap. "Now then, Kimberly, Logan, what's this about a bull?"

We explained as best as we could. "Hmm, hmm," he nodded. When we finished, he looked first to Logan, and then to me, and said, "No."

We were in the suburbs now. It was not as crowded as the city, but we weren't in the country either, and there were zoning laws. No farm animals were allowed in the suburbs. Somehow, that bit of reasoning was reassuring to me. Maybe because he said it with such confidence. Or because Daddy was never wrong.

In the mornings, Mommy drove us to school on her way to work. After school, Logan and I met at the benches by the pine tree, then we started our walk home. We talked about what we would do when we got to the wall, and decided that if we were really, really quiet, maybe we could sneak by wall and the bull wouldn't hear us.

It worked! We kept that strategy up for a couple of weeks, and it worked almost every day. We had a couple more harrowing runs, with that snuffling, growling creature bringing fear to our hearts and swiftness to our feet.

Since this was the suburbs, we found out that most of the kids got picked up from school by their moms, or they were in carpools. Not many kids walked home by themselves. When I started to make friends with the girls in my class, I found out that Kathy walked home from school with twin girls in our grade. Kathy told me that there were alternate routes she could take, because both ways were equidistant. I wasn't sure what that meant, but she said that sometime she could walk with me if I wanted her to, as long as she checked with her mom first. I liked the sound of that.

Next week, Kathy told me that she was allowed to take the alternate route with me on Friday. I was so excited! And then I remembered, oh no! The bull.

On Friday during lunch, I took Kathy aside and told her I had a secret. I had her promise not to tell my secret. Then she pinky swore on it. I hoped that was good enough, because I didn't know her very well and I could easily become the laughing stock at school.

"Wait a minute, what?" she questioned, "did you say a bull? Like a cow?" She was incredulous, but she stayed true to her word and kept the secret.

After school, we met Logan by the pine tree. As we walked, we discovered Kathy was Richard's sister, the friend that Logan had made in his class. Kathy's older sister was responsible for walking Richard home, but maybe we could all go home together some future day.

By the time we got to the infamous cinder block wall, Kathy knew what to do. Silently we walked. The farther we went, the more she tried to suppress a laugh. I could tell she thought our quiet passing was ridiculous. We were almost to the end when the tiny trickle of a giggle escaped her lips.

"Oooouuuhhh!" came from beyond the wall, then a bump at the gate and a billow of dust from nostrils poised at the gate's bottom edge. Pow, pow! Hard bumps sent shivers through the worn wooden gate as Kathy screamed and took off running. Logan and I joined her, all the way to the stop sign for a safe street crossing, then a bit more running.

When we finally stopped to catch our breath, Kathy was wide-eyed. "Wow, cool! A bull!" she exclaimed. "That was scary!"

We waved good-bye when she turned to go home, two streets after the bull. Her house was pink and its tropical plant was a Hawaiian Hibiscus, white flowers with red heart centers.

The next week, Kathy stayed true to her word, and there was no mention of the bull.

Logan and I kept up our sneaky, silent passing of the wall on our way home. Kathy would occasionally and quietly join us on her alternate route home.

One day, Logan was invited to Richard's house for a play day. Richard's mommy would pick them up at school, and Kathy could come to my house to play Barbie dolls. Did we girls want a ride too? Kathy said no, she wanted this chance for us to be alone, to talk about girl stuff and not have the responsibility of a little brother. That sounded fine to me.

Walking home, two girls alone, we were having a great time chatting and giggling, and before we knew it, we were at the wall. Rats! We hadn't been quiet in our approach. We could hear the huffing and puffing, the snorting, the swishing of its bull tail, the deep, harsh lowing. Kathy and I looked at each other. Like that first day with Logan, our fight or flight reaction was strong, and we chose flight. I was quiet in my running as we'd perfected the silent crossing weeks ago, but Kathy was not as trained as I. As we ran she was making little terrified squeals in rhythm with our noisy footfalls.

The bull made it to the gate before we did. The gate heaved as its body crashed into it. We got to the gate, and kept running, listening in panic as the bull attacked the gate as never before. Kathy kept up her squealing. I think that was bad.

CRACK! The dry wood on the gate gave way! I didn't think it was possible, but we ran faster. Horrified, I glanced over my shoulder to see how much lead we had on the bull. Oh! It was a big dog, not a bull! Oh!

I knew not to run from a dog, so I stopped and yelled at Kathy to stop too. She didn't, she couldn't, her body kept going. Petrified, I stayed glued to my spot as that slobbery dog went right by me. I watched that huge slathering dog catch up to her and knock her straight down, face first, onto the sidewalk. Kathy's squeals turned to full-on screams. The dog was shredding her Beauty and the Beast backpack as she covered her neck with her arms and kicked her legs.

"Dangbull! Dangbull!" I saw an old man in overalls run out from the backyard shouting at the dog. "Down, Dangbull! No! Down boy! Down! No!"

Dangbull stopped and looked up just in time to feel the sting of a leather leash whip across his back. He yipped. Cowering, he retreated a few steps.

"No! No!" the man yelled repeatedly, cuffing the dog's head with the back of his hand, then clipping the leash on Dangbull's collar and knotting it around a nearby streetlight pole. The man was back at Kathy's side in an instant, assessing the damage and soothing her as best as a gruff old man could. I was able to move again, so I ran up to join them. A white-haired lady in a blue dress and a flowery apron came out of Dangbull's house to help.

Kathy heaved with sobs. She had a scratch on her side below her backpack and a couple of skinned knees, but otherwise she was physically all right. The lady asked me what Kathy's name was, since Kathy couldn't talk right then. I told her, and she said, "I know her mother from Women's Council," and told the man where to find her phone number.

The man took Dangbull and tied his leash to a strong oak tree in the backyard, then went to the kitchen telephone and called Kathy's mommy. After a few minutes, the lady and I walked Kathy back to their house. The man was nailing a sheet of plywood across the gate opening as we arrived.

We sat on their front porch while Kathy calmed down. The lady brought out some wet towels for Kathy's teary face and scraped knees, and some cups of lemonade for all of us. When Kathy's mommy drove up, Kathy went right back to sobbing again.

Kathy had to get a tetanus shot. The doctor had to make some calls about Dangbull, and they found out that his shots were up-to-date, so she didn't have to worry about rabies. That was a relief.

Later we found out that Dangbull was a Great Dane - Bulldog mix, and that he had bitten a couple of people several years ago. Dangbull went away, and there was never a problem walking by that wall again.

True to her word, Kathy never did tell anyone else about the bull.