Sandwich of Ruin!

Electric fences are no bull

I grew up in a small town in Southeastern Minnesota which, to this day, struggles to maintain a population of over 1,000 people. The town is small enough that, if you were to walk for 15 minutes in a straight line in any direction, chances are good you'll probably find yourself standing in a cornfield.

That's not actually a criticism. Growing up in a town bordered closely by a mix of agricultural expanse and wilderness provided a young boy like myself with ample opportunities for building forts and endless exploration.

It also ensured a nearly constant string of encounters with farm animals both large and small. From getting bucked off a horse to having my groin smashed by the snout of an angry sow, I was never too far away from severe bodily injury any time I visited the farming homes of my rural boyhood friends.

Cows were a frequent sight when I was out exploring or visiting friends' farms, and as domesticated animals go, I decided cows were about the least threatening mammals in existence. Generally, cows tend to stand in one place, perpetually chewing regurgitated grass, while apparently thinking deep thoughts like "Here I am, chewing my vomit." That a cow could somehow harm a person seemed ludicrous.

The first time I remember seeing a bull, I was watching television with my father, who happened to have the TV tuned to a rodeo. I didn't watch for very long, but I nevertheless sat in awe as a grown man willingly lowered himself onto the back of one of the biggest, angriest, most muscular creatures I could ever have imagined.

The gate opened, and the bull proceeded to violently buck and wheel around and perform other extraordinary physical acts in an attempt to remove the flailing man who was determined to hang on for dear life. A few seconds into the spectacle, the bull finally succeeded in knocking the stubborn man to the ground. Not satisfied with simply having him off its back, the bull then started pushing the man around in the dirt with its head, apparently determined to insert one of its horns into the man's behind.

The bull, distracted by men dressed as clowns, gave up on the man, but not before stepping on the man's back with one of its back hoofs. The man, miraculously, got up and ran away, and I remember thinking "There's no way he'll ever do THAT again," and then much to my utter surprise, he tried again just a few minutes later.

I took away a couple lessons from that first rodeo. First, men who ride bulls, while tough as nails, share the same intelligence. Second, bulls are to be feared as one of my top three dangerous animals, alongside dinosaurs and wooly mammoths. So began my lifelong determination to avoid bulls at all costs.

Time passed, and eventually I found myself doing a sleepover at the home of one of my farm friends. This particular friend, John, stayed on a farm that kept cows. Now, I don't quite know how John learned about my deeply ingrained fear of bulls, and in retrospect he probably didn't know; that was just a happy coincidence.

John and I decided to go play in his treehouse located in a slight valley about a half mile from the house. The fastest way to get there was to traverse the pen holding several cows. Because I had no fear of cows whatsoever, I eagerly jumped into the pen and made my way to the other side.

That's when John decided to do something HILARIOUS.

"Ryan! Watch out! The bull's coming after you!" John yelled, and immediately I recalled the stupid little man who almost had a bull horn inserted into his behind.

I started to run, and I mean I started to run the kind of determined run you run when nothing else in life matters except for running. I ran so hard and so fast, I think I left behind a little dust-like ghost of myself, like in cartoons, when a toon takes off very fast and a brief image of it remains before dissapating like a cloud.

I mean, I RAN!!

And I ran right smack dab into an electric fence, which took me out at about the chestline. While my feet continued their forward progress, my body definitely stopped in its tracks, which quickly meant I was flat on my back in the dirt, at which point several small dramas played out all at once.

First off, I had to get the electrical shock out of the way because, after all, I did just run into an electric fence. I spasmed pretty solidly, and I imagine it looked a lot like Luke getting zapped by the Emperor in Return of the Jedi. Secondly, I had just had the wind knocked out of me, so I was dealing with that particularly terrifying sensation of "I CAN'T BREATHE, SO I'M GOING TO DIE!" Finally, I was still determined to put distance between myself and the bull, so I was crawling desperately like I was trying to drag my wounded self off Omaha Beach on D-Day.

In the end, it was just too much for my body to process all at once, so my brain decided I should just collapse and concentrate my efforts on getting air back in my lungs. I lay there, gasping, waiting for the bull horn to arrive and do its worst. It would be easy for the bull; I was now a stationary target, after all. Heck, the bull could even take its time and line up the shot for maximum effect. What could I do?

To my complete surprise, no bull checked my oil that day. Instead, I heard John approaching, laughing the kind of unfettered laugh you let loose when you've just witnessed something so comedically pure and wonderful, no other response is adequate. As it turned out, there was no bull in that particular pen; the impulse to yell that a bull was bearing down on me was all just inspiration on John's part.

While the bull had been simply fantasy, the electric fence had been very much real. I had struck that wire with such force that I actually snapped it in two which, while remarkable, was nevertheless quite annoying to John's brother, Mike, who was tasked with repairing the broken wire.

I harbored great resentment against John for several hours after the incident, but I eventually decided it wasn't something to end a friendship over. I did, however, make a silent pledge to get even some day.

So, John, if you're reading this, consider yourself warned.

Posted by Ryan at January 31, 2010 09:59 PM | TrackBack