Those of you who have followed our blog from the start will be aware that we occasionally wander into a farmyard near Glastonbury to collect gurt big lumps of cheese for the lord of our land-this farm having a dairy within it. In a barn opposite the dairy lives a bull-the biggest bull you are ever likely to see in your life. One of us is six foot tall and the bull stands higher. It is, not to mince words, bloody enormous and (given the reputation that bulls enjoy) we have only stoppped to look at it from the safety of the car. Clutch down, in gear, foot hovering over the accelerator, ready for a speedy escape in the event of the bull taking exception to our stares and treating us as some kind of china shop.
Until today. Today whilst collecting the cheese we asked the dairyman about the bull (typical silly non-farming-folk questions like 'how much does it weigh' and 'why doesn't it have a ring through its nose') and discovered that it has been at the farm for a long time and is as gentle as a lamb. We put this last to the test on our way out and discovered it to be true, putting aside all of our fears about bulls we went and made friends with it. Close up it oozed an aura of gentle calm, it clearly wouldn't harm a fly (unless the fly was out for trouble in the first place, and even then the bull would turn the other cheek and only retaliate if the fly became murderous. This would then become a case of self-defence and no Court in the land would find the bull guilty) As you may be aware, one of the Mudhoppers New Year Resolutions was to be less afraid of bulls and the fickle finger of fate has led us to making close acquaintance with a veritable Goliath of its species.
But the best bit of information about this magnificant beastie is his name-the last question we asked the dairyman, almost as an afterthought;
Mudhoppers - Does the bull have a name?
Dairyman - Yes, but it's a stupid name for a bull. I don't know why, but his name is Alan!
3 comments:
Years ago, some friends had a bull whose name was Dillinger. When they'd walk up the road to find a quiet place to smoke one, Dillinger, understandably curious, would follow along his side of the fence. Can you get a bull high? they wondered. Various attempts ensued, and yes, it seemed, you could. After that, whenever anyone left the house, Dillinger appeared immediately at the fence, waiting for his buzz. Munched his way through a lot of haybales, in those days. Gone now, Big D, but not forgotten. All best, guys!
There was a gigantic Bull in Pushkar in Rajistan which had deformed horns. When it used to mount the cows in the street everyone got out of the way sharpish. The last time I saw it it had lost tons of weight and stood outside a shop along the street without eating or moving for days. Apparently it died there and they put its skull in one of the temples.
There are range bulls up here in places that you can't quite call docile....well maybe not at all....aww forget the "bull" cuz' ya best run for your life!!
That's because without these behemoths of ill temper...the herds would suffer from the wolves and bears.
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