Friday, March 25, 2011

CHUCK COMES FOR TEA AND HOUSE RERUNS

Chuck, the Jersey bull, whom I have petted and loved since he was a pimply teenager, has grown to magnificent proportions.  He has a perfect diet of hay, free range grass, spring water, and his own herd of girls to hang out with.  He's getting so big that if a young heiffer becomes fertile, he can't be allowed near her, his weight would break her pelvis.  He finds this grossly unfair and frustrating. 

A couple of days ago around tea time, the Boss put a young heiffer into a corral to protect her.  Chuck found his way out of his pasture and went searching for the love of his life, this week.  The Boss has a very long stick in his hand and was out front talking with a neighbor.  I was looking out the picture window, wondering what the stick was for, when Chuck appeared, prowling the parking area and bellowing. 

Chuck has the memory of an elephant.  When I scratched the curls on his forehead when he was young, he thought he had found heaven.  He turns his head and watches me if I walk by his pasture.  Now he was seeing his friend through a plate glass window, and he wanted to play.  He trotted over and pressed his nose to the glass, leaving a muddy nose smear on it.  The window bowed a bit, threatening to let Chuck in for tea.  I ducked behind a chair, and he moved on.  The heiffer search was more important than his friendship with me.  I am crushed!

The Boss decided it was time to round up the friendly bull and stash him in his own corral, which he did with very little effort and a long stick.  As I said after another encounter with Chuck last summer, even if we forget that we have dominion over the beasts of the field, the beasts themselves do not forget.  One lonely man with a long stick can pursuade this huge bull to go where he is told.  So Chuck went in, bellowing and complaining, within scent distance of his lady love, the little heiffer.

I thought that was the end of it. 

This morning the Boss and his lady got in the big truck and went off somewhere, leaving Buster, the border collie on the back porch napping.  I thought I heard a familiar bellow, looked out the nose-printed front window to see Buster waking up, yawning, as Chuck, the super Jersey Bull, wandered by, bellowing and searching.  He was headed my way again. 

I sat down out of sight and watched House reruns.   I hoped he had forgotten that his playmate was  inside the cabin.  At the commercial, I looked carefully over my shoulder and, sure enough, Chuck was at the window watching House with me.  He wandered away finally, and I pulled the curtains.  When he went around the main house, I called Buster inside.  Buster can outrun the bull, but I think I really wanted the moral support.  Buster is annoyed.  He does not want to babysit the woman in the cabin.
I fed him a scrambled egg, which improved his mood for about 30 seconds. 

It has begun raining.  I'm beginning to feel like Faye Wray with her friend King Kong.  Only Kong had more finesse.  Chuck doesn't understand that he can kill a toy by playing with it.  Me.  So I'm in the cabin until the Boss comes home.  If I had more practice herding cattle, I would put Chuck back where he belongs, but I don't.  And the chances are there is a section of fence out from where the love-sick bull pushed it down. 

It's a huge giggle to have such a gigantic creature just wanting to play with me.  When he leaps into the air with pure joy, it's hard to remember that he's dangerous.  But I'm trying. 

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