The Bull

The Bull

“If you are done eating your breakfast, go out and play while the older girls clean up,” said Aunt Nora to the little girl.

Whap, whap went her skipping rope as she skipped around the dirty yard. Boring, she thought, dropping the rope as she looked around the dusty, dirty farm yard. I hope Martha gets to come out soon. She usually thinks of something interesting to do. At home, I would be playing with my best friend, Lynn. Stepping over the rope, she wandered into the barnyard.

As she stood on her tiptoes looking through the unpainted wooden fence, she saw him standing alone in the small enclosure by the barn. To her, an eight-year-old town girl, he looked huge and frightening. He appeared impervious to the multitude of flies buzzing around him. The large metal, silver coloured ring in his nose contrasted with his pure black colouring. He must be hot too, she thought as she noticed his hide glistening with sweat. She watched as he pawed the ground with his front hooves, a cloud of dust swirling around him. As a breeze blew the dust into her face, she coughed with a slight gagging sound. Blinking the dust out of her eyes, she noticed he had stepped closer to the fence. He whipped his head from side to side, and saliva flew from his mouth through the air, landing onto his muscular back and the surrounding ground. Then he lowered his head aggressively, and his angry, red, rimmed eyes looked at her. Opening his slobbering mouth, he let out a loud bellow. Alarmed, she stepped backwards, almost tripping over Martha, who had come up behind her.

“Stay away from the fence,” Uncle George yelled. “You are irritating the bull.”

“Isn’t a bull the same as a cow?” She innocently asked her cousin.

Cousin Philip, learning on the barn door, chewing on a blade of grass, rolled his eyes. “Stupid town girl,” he grumbled. She watched him spit onto the dusty ground before returning to the barn. Something her Uncle did this continually. The sound was disgusting.

Spitting must be a farm thing, she thought, having never seen her father or grandfather, local businessmen, spit on the ground. One time, my brother got a spanking for spitting, she recalled. She shouted at Philip, “Spitting is gross.”

He poked his head out and glared at her. She stuck her tongue out in retaliation. Knowing he wouldn’t hesitate to punch her, she turned and scampered back to the house, pondering why the bull was here instead of in the field with the cows. Farming didn’t make any sense at all.

The next day at the breakfast table, Uncle George announced, “Today, we move the cows.” Turning to Martha, “You keep her away from the Bull.” He grabbed his stained hat from the hook, stomped down the steps into the yard, and yelled. “We leave in 10 minutes.” Dust swirled around his boots as he trudged towards the barn.

“Just put the breakfast dishes in the sink. We can wash up when we get back,” stated her Aunt. “Everyone put on a wide-brimmed hat. It is going to be a hot one today.” Looking at the little girl’s blonde pigtails and fair skin, she asked, “Do you have a hat?” The girl shook her head.

“Daddy didn’t pack one.”

“Martha will give you one of hers.” Noticing the cut-offs and sleeveless summer blouse the girl had on, she turned to Martha, “Get her changed into a long-sleeved shirt and pants.

The older girls, Lois and Ruthie, were already donning their hats and shoes. “You two fill the jugs with cold water and put those sandwiches into the cooler. We will be gone all day. Quickly now, everyone, hurry. He hates to wait.”

Martha grabbed the younger girl’s arm and pulled her up the stairs to their bedroom. Before the girl could ask questions, she said, “No time for talking. Where are your long pants?” Digging into a dresser drawer, she pulled out a pair. Shoving them at the girl, she kept digging. “Don’t you have a long-sleeved shirt? Oh, never mind, put on this old shirt of mine. It will be a bit big on you, but it will do. Hurry up, Dad is honking the horn.” Changing into the long pants and pulling the shirt over her blouse, the young girl scrambled down the steps after her cousin. Martha grabbed their shoes and two hats from the rack as they ran, in their bare feet, out the door. The older girl jumped into the truck’s box. Philip grabbed the girl and roughly tossed her over the end gate onto the truck’s dirty floorboards, as he jumped in after her. With the kids in the back and the adults in the front, Uncle George punched the gas pedal. As they surged forward, the little girl, who had just stood up, lost her balance and fell back down. She was glad the end gate was there to stop her from rolling out. Dust billowed behind them as they roared down the dirt road. She looked around at her cousins, who acted like this was normal.

Picking herself up for the second time, she sat down beside Martha. As she opened her mouth to ask all the questions swirling in her mind, the two older girls turned and glared at her. Experience told her to say nothing. Pressing her lips together, she looked around as they bounced down the road, staring at the cloud of dust billowing behind them. Why aren’t the roads around here paved like at home? she wondered, feeling homesick.

Plunking a floppy, oversized hat onto the girl’s head, Martha leaned down to slip the shoes onto the girl’s feet and whispered, “Just stay close to me and you will be ok.” Hanging onto Martha’s arm, she reminisced about how she had ended up spending her summer here with these farm cousins, whom she had not known, instead of with her parents at the family cabin. It had been three weeks since her Uncle Pete had been burned in a farm accident, and her life had turned upside down. She had always been proud of her mom, who everyone called ‘Nurse Ruth’. For example, when ‘little Garry’, a neighbour kid, had fallen off his bike and broken his arm, they called her mom for help. Now she was angry at her mom, who was ‘too busy’ nursing Uncle Pete. Aunt Nora had said, ‘The family is so glad your mother is there to nurse Uncle Pete.’ Well, she wasn’t glad, not at all!

The truck skidded to a halt, and the cloud of dust swirled into the box, causing everyone to cough and gag. As the girls jumped out, she just sat there. Maybe they won’t notice me. I will sit very quietly and wait. But, instead, Philip grabbed her and, not very gently, set her on the ground.

The day was spent trudging in the heat and the dust, swatting at flies as everyone yelled, “Kee Waa, Kee Waa.”. To keep the cows moving, the men hit the slower ones with a stick. They stopped only once to wash down the sandwiches with water from the jugs.

It was getting dark when Uncle George said, “Ok, Philip, you close the gate and go get the truck.”

Looking around, she noticed the Bull as he stood, looking as mean and intimidating as before. Clinging to Martha’s shirt, she stayed far away from him, glad he didn’t appear to notice her. He seemed more interested in the cows as he strutted around them, aggressively pushing them around, causing more dust to swirl.

They walked to the road’s edge as Philip pulled up. “Ok, everyone, back into the truck. We are heading home.” The evening clouds were moving in and, at last, it was cooling off. Not waiting for Philip to help her, she was the first to clamber over the end gate into the truck’s box. Being hot, dusty, and exhausted, she fell asleep with her head on Martha’s lap.

During the following week, every day was the same. The hot sun beat down from the cloudless sky. The ground was so dry that dust collected everywhere. Everyone hoped for rain. The adults were continually listening to the hourly weather reports on the radio. Uncle George grumbled about the creek, which was the water supply for the cattle, going dry. Aunt Nora worried about her garden, continually muttering, “Nothing will grow in this heat.” The big concern was the well. The girl couldn’t understand why water was such a concern. At home, they just turned on a tap and water came. Here it was different. In the mornings, Philip, grumbling as usual, would bring in large buckets of water from a shed, called the well house. He used to do this throughout the day. Not anymore. Two buckets had to last all day. Washing was no longer a requirement, even at bedtime.

One morning, as the girls were eating breakfast and her Aunt was puttering around the kitchen, Philip burst into the house yelling, “There is a dust storm coming our way.” Everyone ran to the door. It was the largest cloud of dust she had ever seen. The sky was black, as if it were night instead of morning.

“Where is the sun?” she asked. No one replied. Instead, they stood gaping as the dust cloud came closer.

“Is it the cattle stampeding?” asked one of the girls.

“Dad says it is a dust storm due to the lack of rain,” replied Philip. “You two go lock the chickens into the chicken coop, now.”

The two older girls ran out the door. To Martha, her Aunt said, “Close all the windows and doors. Make sure they are tightly secured.” Turning to the little girl, “You go to your room and stay there.”

Lying on her bed, she could hear slamming, banging, and people yelling inside and outside. She crept over to the window to look out. She saw Uncle George and Philip running back and forth in the farm yard. What they were doing made no sense to her. Tears started to roll down her cheeks. Maybe the preacher was right. The end was coming. He had said, “The sky will turn black, the winds will howl…” Oh no, she had forgotten what else he said would happen! Jumping into her bed, she covered her head with the sheet and cried into her pillow.

Suddenly, Martha was there, hugging her. “Everything will be ok. No need to cry. This happens every summer.”

“It does?”

“Yes. Do you want me to read a story?”

“Yes, please,” she sniffled. Once again, she wished she were at home with her parents.