Walter is the cock so this is the other bit. Those who know Debbie Inett may know that she gets very excited over pictures of Walter.
So one winter's night Sara and I are watching the goggle box when there is a strange noise outside. Sara says "there must be someone at the door you must go and check". I go to the front door but all is silent. I return to the box. The noise persists, I am told "You did not look properly, go and check again". I do as I am told.
I walk across the back of the house. Turn to check the rhubarb patch and I am looking into the eyes of a very large Bull. he is one of those big white ones with curly hair around his huge forhead. We look at one another and I quietly back away and go back in to report.
I am instructed to go back and make him go away before he does any damage! I do as instructed but when I get there I find he has legged it and is down in the field. This seems to be one of those cases where he is more scared than me! We got some bostin Rhubarb later that year.
The field is rented by a farmer from Presteigne. Cliff, a neighbour,checks the animals daily. Sara tells Cliff what has happened and he persuades the farmer to repair the fence. Farmer not too pleased - it appears that the Bull is friendly and harmless, the farmer clearly thinks we are soft townies who do not understand country ways. He fixes the fence anyway so it has not happened again and we have a nice new fence to keep us safe from the cows and sheep who use the field occasionally for a holiday break.
Later that year I am working in the garden and I notice that the Bull has been staionery at the far side of the field for sometime. I wonder if he is in dificulty? I carefully sneak around the edge of the field to get a closer look. I get to a point where we are close but separated by a stout fence. Davy Crockett in a flat cap!
The Bull has a length of barbed wire wrapped around his back leg. It has puntured him in places and he is bleeding. What shall I do? I contemplate wrassling him to the ground in the manner of John Wayne so that I can remove the wire. Sense then prevails and I telephone Cliff. Cliff and his son arrive. I am pleased to see them sneak up as wussily as I did. When the Bull sees them he shakes his leg, the barbed wire falls to the ground and he walks away disdainfully. Cliff sprays some magic stuff on the bull's leg and then moves quickly away. Cliff thinks he will recover but will check again later. It all worked out OK but one day the farmer took the bull away - best not to ask where he went.
4 comments:
As an ex-member of the outdoor fraternity I always found that the best way to deal with animals out in the country was to treat them like uncooperative Yr11 students: Act like you are in charge and you know what you are doing. If that fails, threaten to take them to the abbatoir and have them shot. Or was it detention? I always got them confused.
I am working on a post that you might like. It will be called 'scallys I have known'
Hmm, I seem to remember Bob reporting back about the bull and ME being the one who had to go and dismiss it as, and I quote, "you are more used to big animals" - I think he was referring to horses, not quite the same.
sounds a little far fetched this to me and calling it a bull story?
sounds very brass eye
(although i know it is true but never let that get in the way of a good comment...)
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