Beech Tree News Network

Recently, we had one of those days at work that can happen only in a small town.  A bull escaped from the nearby Heritage Animal Hospital.  It led to a sequence of events that was quite entertaining for me, but not for the bull or the people responsible for capturing him before he could cause bodily harm or property damage.

                Initially, the bull ran across the street to the Shell station next door, where he head-butted a couple of cars for emphasis on the fact that he was now free and could consequently do as he pleased.  He traveled from there to the tree line behind our shop, an employee of Heritage, armed with tranquilizer darts, in hot pursuit. 

                At the same time the chase was taking place, the Shogun food truck was parked in the grassy lot beside our store, the same lot that adjoins the tree line where the bull was located.  There were several people in line for their meat, rice and veggies, which meant there were several cars parked on the grass and in the edge of our lot. 

                A representative from the city police department, as well as a couple of guys from the rescue squad positioned their vehicles between the bull in the tree line and the crowd of Shogun customers, who were not going to let anything as insignificant as a runaway bull cause them to lose their place in line—who knew when the truck would be back in Morgantown again.  I stood at our open bay doors watching these events take place.

                Eventually, the Heritage employee emerged from the tree line and gave the all-clear signal to the city employees.  It seems the bull found his way to an adjoining farm, where those of like-kind were peacefully grazing.  I later learned the bull was allowed to calm down for a day or two before he was loaded up and returned to his rightful owner.  The animal hospital has since made adjustments to the enclosure, making it more secure.  To be fair to Heritage Animal Hospital, a bull can escape an underground concrete bunker if he is so a mind to.  We had a bull that ran through six strands of barbed wire in order to pick a fight with the bull next door.

                Our friends Ron and Hank run some heifers and a bull on our farm, and the whole herd recently took a stroll through a fence that had been downed by a fallen tree during one of the many windstorms we’ve had of late.  Garey announced this to me during my morning cup of coffee.

                “Ron and Hank’s cows got out last night,” he said, “They grazed our strawberry plants (no harm there—we were planning to pull them up anyway) then went down the hill to Kevin’s.  There’s cow manure everywhere.  Kevin called Ron at 10:30 last night to tell him Larry was in his yard.”

                “Who’s Larry?” I asked.

                “The bull,” Garey said.

                “The bull has a name?” I asked.

                “All Ron’s bulls have had names,” Garey said.

                “Who knew?” I thought, but didn’t say.  The name actually suits this particular bull.  He is one of the most nonchalant animals I’ve ever come in contact with.  He likes to lie under the big oak tree in the pasture that adjoins our garden.  When I mow up next to the fence, Larry just turns his head and looks at me—he’s so close I can almost feel his breath—then turns away in disinterest.  Hank was mowing the pasture last week when he came to a spot out in the grass where Larry was lying.  Larry decided it wasn’t a good day to move, so Hank had to mow around him.

                I asked Ron how he got Larry out of Kevin’s yard and back into the pasture.

                “After I pried his head out of the feed bucket, he loaded right up into the trailer,” Ron said. 

                With Larry, I can believe that.

                 I’ve noticed Larry keeps to himself a lot.  He lies under the oak tree by himself.  When he’s in the pasture by the barn, he lies in the corner by himself.  I made a comment to Garey about how much time Larry spends alone.

                “If you were a male locked up in a field with nine females, you’d probably spend a lot of time by yourself too,” Garey said.

                Point taken.  I’ve been in a few situations where I needed alone time so bad, I could probably have fought my way out of an underground concrete bunker.