Pensacola Zoo

Part 2 - Crossing the Rubicon

The episode with the Texaco man wasn't the last lesson taught to me by the humble pescado. That same summer Pa and I were fishing again. This time at a farm pond, and our catch was definitely under the legal limit. We'd spent half the day and had enjoyed the fishing and conversation immensely. At one point, eight or nine cows wandered over toward the pond. Of course they paid little attention to us, but as the morning wore on, a big old bull came nosing around with obvious romantic intentions in mind. Eventually he chased those gals in his lumbering fashion closer to us, where they all gathered and gazed in our direction in that  moon-eyed way of theirs.

We figured it was as good a time as any to quit, so with bountiful fish well under control on a string, we began the walk back. Our destination was a barn about two hundred yards from the pond. The shortest route was directly across the large field, now occupied by the bull, but since it was pushing ninety-five degrees, we naturally decided to take a chance on the short cut. 

We'd paid close notice to the black beast earlier and confirmed he was a monster; a big old ugly, significant monster. He sported a massive chain that hooked through his nose and he seemed especially ornery that afternoon. Or maybe he was just plain horn-ery as there was a distinct lack of erotic ardor expressed on the part of his would-be harem.

We got about halfway across the field and had just crossed the Rubicon, so to speak. Of course it was about then that old blacky caught sight and wind of us and took a keen interest in our sluggish progress. All the sudden he began snorting and pounding his front right hoof and blowing shit out of those flaring huge wet nostrils.  

"No problem, son," my grandfather reassured me. "That ol' boy ain't going nowhere." 

Wrong again grandpa. 

The bull charged. We took off like horse flies, running like our lives depended on it and in the process dropped all our fish behind. So rattled were we that Pa literally picked me up and threw me over the corral fence just before the unfriendly convergence of the bull's giant horns and my scared rear end. Not wasting a second, we scampered into the barn and up into the loft, afraid the devil himself would pursue us and crush the ever-loving life out of us. Our once wet and semi-flapping bass were stomped by the bull, turned instantly into paste by the fury of his hooves. But that was the least of our worries at the time. 

And then the worm turned. The bull got so wound up with testosterone and his own brand of bullshit that he ended up getting his nose-chain hooked in the gnarly bushes next to the barn. Old wooly bully was caught up by that brush and going nowhere and we were greatly relieved to see him thus encumbered.  

Safely from the loft grandpa hurled a taunt or two: 

"Hey, old boy, what do you think of that, you chicken-shit asshole!" Pa let on. 

I just laughed, but it was a nervous laugh. The bull, his eyes two pools of crimson death, looked me straight in the eye and then, clear as day, spoke:

"Next time." 

That's all he said. I wretched visibly, then said to Pa, "Did you hear that?" 

And Pa, who was hard of hearing anyway, replied, "Hear what?" 

About to shit my pants, I  mumbled, "Never mind". 

We found a bell inside the barn and rang it within an inch of its life. In a few minutes the farmer who owned the place came up and asked what was going on. We gave him the short version, leaving out a few of Pa's editorial phrases. He very carefully untangled the huge beast; then hopped on the back of the monster and rode him real casual-like up to his house. It looked all the world like Mongo when he rode the bull through town in Blazing Saddles. We could hardly believe our eyes. 

Only thing we could do by then was go home where grandma cooked up some biscuits drenched with Karo syrup. We re-told the story over and over, each time with slightly more embellishments. I really loved my grandfather and he was truly good to me. But I can tell you one thing, when it came to park rangers, fish and bulls, he was zero-for-three that summer.