Oct 19, 2015 3 min read

Sunday afternoon was a typical cool, fall day. I had some chicken and vegetables simmering in a pot and was fully prepared to settle onto the couch with a blanket and watch the Steelers football game. And so the plan went for nearly the first quarter.

Suddenly, I saw a movement out of a window and peered out to see what critter had caught my eye. It was not the bird or cat that I presumed I would see. It was our bull, Paddy, who had somehow escaped from the pasture and was munching the grass at the edge of the garden.

“The bull’s out,” I called to my husband, and we all skipped to the mud room for our boots and coats. The oldest ran to the barn for a scoop of grain, a treat that usually entices any one of our relatively docile cows to return to their paddock.

Alas, a neighboring field contains a couple dozen unbred heifers, and their presence spoke louder than the grain bucket could. He sniffed the grain, but then turned around and walked the other direction. He practically trotted out toward the far end of the fence line – where, of course, there is no gate that can be opened to let him back in.

About two thirds of the way there, Paddy decided he needed to scratch his neck. He leaned over one of my young pear trees and began rubbing. He pushed and rubbed, and the trunk moved in the ground. About the time I questioned whether the tree could withstand this pushing, he gave one more rough push. The branches were no match for his brute strength, and he snapped the trunk in two. The entire tree just broke in half. Apparently he was still itchy, as he simply walked 10 feet to the next tree and began scratching on it instead.

Having seen the look of sadness and anger at the demise of my tree, my husband (although failing at remaining straight-faced) shooed Paddy away from the second one. Paddy began heading back for the barn, though I swear he clipped a branch from every one of my remaining fruit trees on his way.

As we went back past the house, I stopped and let the dog out. Brick loves to corral the cows, but he needs a lot of direction about when and where. Since Paddy was headed the wrong direction at first, we couldn’t let Brick take the lead. But now, given the go-ahead whistle, Brick took off like a shot. He closed the gap between him and Paddy and nipped at his heels. Dodging the kicks that ensued, Brick followed the bull, nipping as needed to turn him toward the open gate. Soon, the bull was back inside the safety of the fence.

Shortly thereafter, I was back inside, as well. I lost the boots and coat, grabbed my blanket and more soup, and finished the game. The major issue resolved, I can deal with a dead tree any time.

Laura Zoeller can be reached at zoeller5@verizon.net.