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Had a round with a bull today.
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<blockquote data-quote="50/50Farms" data-source="post: 1779312" data-attributes="member: 42731"><p>We had a simmental bull that would headbutt the truck and could only be moved off from such a stand if I cracked a bull whip. He took a ride.</p><p></p><p>We had another fighter, and this makes for a good story:</p><p>I reckon I was 16 or 17, we had a simm-brangus homegrown bull that made fine calves and was a big old boy, but he never favored corrals and did his best to avoid them. The main body of the herd could be made to lead by truck across any pasture on one side of the road with a drag man to one side of the road and cross and reset themselves to continue on the other side in the same fashion. We were taking them all in to worm, vaccinate, and sort off selling calves one year when this bull decided to split. He ran out of the open pasture, crossed the creek, and holed up in the woods. I was sent after him. Had I even the time to fetch up a smaller vehicle or saddle a horse, it would have been pointless because the woods were too thick for either. Luckily, the leaf litter and the dirt made him easy to track and I crossed the creek on foot and tracked him. I finally bottomed out his track as I broke out of the thicket and I met him there. As I got out of the thick stuff, I looked up. There he was, standing on the cut bank of the creek, in this little clearing no bigger than 15 yards either way. He looked at the creek below him and the drop and he turned around towards me and set himself. All I could say to myself was "Aw, hell, you've really done it this time. Reckon you're gonna have a hell of a go-round with this (insert expletive for a man who holds congress with a mother)"</p><p></p><p>He went to move towards me and there was no way I could go back fast enough, so I went forward, and this bull who had known me all his life freaked out. He ran and pitched over sideways over that creekbank and fell into that water, thrashed out to other side and busted up a fence I had just fixed last week.</p><p></p><p>I went looking for him again, and he was standing in the garden beside the barn wondering what next to do. I went and opened the nearest gate and tried to push him in. He made to fight again so I picked up a few river rocks and tapped him on the butt with them but he wouldn't go. I finally picked up a good one, aimed, summed up my baseball experience and crow-hopped and put it right at the base of the scrotum. He let himself back in to the pasture and was sold within a month.</p><p></p><p>I don't know what the moral of the story is, other than getting anything by the cajones works.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="50/50Farms, post: 1779312, member: 42731"] We had a simmental bull that would headbutt the truck and could only be moved off from such a stand if I cracked a bull whip. He took a ride. We had another fighter, and this makes for a good story: I reckon I was 16 or 17, we had a simm-brangus homegrown bull that made fine calves and was a big old boy, but he never favored corrals and did his best to avoid them. The main body of the herd could be made to lead by truck across any pasture on one side of the road with a drag man to one side of the road and cross and reset themselves to continue on the other side in the same fashion. We were taking them all in to worm, vaccinate, and sort off selling calves one year when this bull decided to split. He ran out of the open pasture, crossed the creek, and holed up in the woods. I was sent after him. Had I even the time to fetch up a smaller vehicle or saddle a horse, it would have been pointless because the woods were too thick for either. Luckily, the leaf litter and the dirt made him easy to track and I crossed the creek on foot and tracked him. I finally bottomed out his track as I broke out of the thicket and I met him there. As I got out of the thick stuff, I looked up. There he was, standing on the cut bank of the creek, in this little clearing no bigger than 15 yards either way. He looked at the creek below him and the drop and he turned around towards me and set himself. All I could say to myself was "Aw, hell, you've really done it this time. Reckon you're gonna have a hell of a go-round with this (insert expletive for a man who holds congress with a mother)" He went to move towards me and there was no way I could go back fast enough, so I went forward, and this bull who had known me all his life freaked out. He ran and pitched over sideways over that creekbank and fell into that water, thrashed out to other side and busted up a fence I had just fixed last week. I went looking for him again, and he was standing in the garden beside the barn wondering what next to do. I went and opened the nearest gate and tried to push him in. He made to fight again so I picked up a few river rocks and tapped him on the butt with them but he wouldn't go. I finally picked up a good one, aimed, summed up my baseball experience and crow-hopped and put it right at the base of the scrotum. He let himself back in to the pasture and was sold within a month. I don't know what the moral of the story is, other than getting anything by the cajones works. [/QUOTE]
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