Better Off_ Flipping the Switch on Technology - Eric Brende [28]
At the bottom of the hill, I began to cross a clearing; I shot a glance over my back.
No bull.
The herd, in fact, was breaking up, and in a minute or two, only a couple of head followed. I got off the bike to ford a small stream, then continued where the road led. But I couldn’t shake them. The two head continued tailing me and—could I be imagining this?—began tossing their heads and bucking like bison, looking as if they were about to charge. I peered under their bellies.
Indeed they were male!
They weren’t as large as the red and white bull we had encountered earlier; if anything, they were a bit smaller than the average. And the toss of their heads seemed casual, almost playful. They lowered their heads, snorted, then bucked again, following each other in a circle. As I continued to pedal, catching glimpses of them over my shoulder, the road came to an end, and once more I waded through grass. But then, as if reading my worst fears, one of the animals broke from its partner and headed toward me. Anticipating a five-hundred-pound wallop, I abandoned my bike. Throwing it in his path, I darted to a nearby tree. Cowering behind the trunk, I waited for what seemed forever, hearing no sound but the deafening pounding of my own heart. At last I dared to peek. The bull was a few yards away, sniffing and pawing at my bike as if puzzled by my disappearance. Without notice he raised his head and looked me in the eye. I jerked back but it was too late. The earth began to shake again…then stopped. Unable to contain myself, I peered around the trunk from the other side. A few feet away, the animal sniffed at some dandelions. On impulse I decided to make a run for it. The next tree was near enough, and making it, I wove from tree to tree until I had ascended deep into a wooded hillside, faintly aware of having passed a noisy fount of water gushing from a rock outcropping. Soon I was deep in the wood and had lost my bearings. I meandered towards where I imagined the farm boundary lay, for I knew that beyond it was a county gravel road. I came upon an old chimney and the remains of an old stone foundation. All I wanted was a fence to climb, something to put between me and the bulls.
Finally I reached it, scaled it, broke through some brush—and there before me sat the Millers’ house. I ran over and came face to face with Amos and Caleb next to the large metal equipment shed. It seemed as though eons had passed since my last contact with human life. I poured out my story, and when I had finished the tale, I added with a hint of indignation, “You told me there was only one bull!”
Amos eyed me, incredulous. “Them’s baby steers. They was just tryin’ to have some fun.” Amos looked at Caleb, and they laughed out loud. I couldn’t believe it. I suddenly felt so angry that my face began to flush, and I had to work to disguise this and keep from saying anything I might regret. I had nearly been killed! (Hadn’t I? But this was now in doubt.) Two of the older brothers had heard the commotion and came by to join in the revelry. One of them offered to get the bike back for me, but he was obviously only too pleased to say so.
As I passed Mr. Miller in the barnyard, he said (suppressing his own smile), “Don’t worry about them. They’ve probably just been getting a big head.”
The misfortunes seemed to feed on themselves. After tinkering with the ram for three days, Mr. Miller and his sons gave up. They never got it to work. It pumped well enough, but water never reached the house. They figured at last that the hill was taller than they had estimated. The next-bigger-size ram was needed, and Mr. Miller was not prepared to purchase it.
Jed returned my bicycle, the front wheel twisted like a pretzel.
The car, I learned the next time I drove it, had a new rattle