A good friend of mine - we'll call him Don, because that's his name - tells a fishing story about catching only cow tracks. Even so, he maintains that it was one of the most memorable outdoor adventures he ever experienced. It seems that one day Don received a telephone call from a buddy who wanted to catch "some of those monster channel catfish that the San Juan river is famous for". Don tried explaining that there are very few "monster cats" in the San Juan River, and that the few smaller fish he had reeled in thus far had the distinct taste of mud.
Although Don was not interested in catching "mud cats," his friend could not be persuaded to give up the idea. It seems that his buddy had just purchased a brand new, four wheel drive, Ford pick-up truck and was itching to try it out. He told Don that he would pick him up early the next morning.
Sure enough, the guy arrived at Don's door bright and early, ready to fish. Don says that he was a bit timid about climbing into that shiny new vehicle with his worn jeans and dusty boots. His friend assured him that the truck was intended for hunting and fishing, and asked, "Which way to the most inaccessible spot on the river?" Don directed him west of town to a sandy, wide spot in the river, just over the ridge from the airport. As they turned off the highway onto the dirt road leading to the river, they had to cross a rusty, beat up, home made cattle guard meant to keep in a small, rough looking, undernourished band of cattle that ranged freely over this portion of desert scrub land.
The problem was that a gaunt, hard looking bull was partially blocking the road, and looked as if he had no intention of moving. Don was familiar with this contrary fellow, and directed his friend to simply pull the front end of the truck up within a few feet of the critter and stop. If the bull was obliging, he would move aside and let them pass; it was, after all, his territory. Don told his friend not to honk the horn, because the beast had been blasted far too many times and reacted badly to it. Don's friend wondered at the directions, but did as he was told. The bull decided that it would be okay to let the truck pass. The old fellow moved slightly to the driver's side of the truck in order to give them room. What irked Don's buddy most was a close up, full on view of the bull's manure encrusted back side as he drove past. It was almost as if the feisty creature had presented this picture as a gesture of what he thought of the situation.
As predicted, the fishing produced nothing but sunburn and cockle burrs for the two outdoorsmen. Don's buddy seemed upset about the bull's nasty attitude, and mentioned to Don that he thought the creature was a despicable excuse for a bull. Don shrugged his shoulders and said that the critter was a "free range bull," and better left alone. The two men decided it was time to give up trying to catch fish and headed in to the Twin Rocks Cafe for breakfast. As they made their way back to the highway, they noticed the bull had retaken the center of the road, right in front of the cattle guard. Don's friend let out an oath, and nudged the truck right up to the old devil before stopping. The beastly bovine turned his head slightly in order to eyeball the truck's driver, gave his heavily horned head a shake and slowly shuffled to the passenger side of the vehicle.
Don's fishing buddy was becoming miffed by the bull's nonchalant, kingly attitude, and was losing patience. As he pulled the truck even with the brute, Don was presented with the same posterior view his friend had so recently complained of. Don's window was rolled down, and he became rather uncomfortable with the close proximity of the bull's powerful backside and its distinct odor. Without realizing it, Don slid to the center of the seat and was sitting next to his buddy. The guy snorted with laughter, and asked Don if they were now engaged. Don was more uncomfortable next to the bull than embarrassed by sitting so close to this wiseguy. He told his pal to pull forward and leave the beast alone.
The bull moved in a direction directly away from the door of the vehicle to a distance of about three feet and stopped. Don's rankled friend could no longer take the insinuated abuse of such a lowly creature. He laid down on the truck's horn hard and long. The blaring noise reverberated across the landscape in an ominous way. Just as the would-be joker touched his hooter, that seemingly lethargic beast sprang into action. Quicker than the blink of an eye, that old bull hunched forward, raised his nasty back side and lashed out with his hind feet.
The impact of the bull's hooves on the passenger door sent shock waves through the new Ford, and through the minds of its passengers. The now outraged, wild eyed creature sprang around to face the truck, blowing snot from his flared nostrils and shaking his horned head in a menacing fashion. Don instantly recognized the threat of adding insult to injury, and admonished his friend to drive on. His buddy wasted no time crossing that cattle guard to safety, out of reach of the highly agitated beast.
Pulling the truck a good hundred yards away from the offending creature, Don and his friend sprang from the truck to inspect the damage. There, imprinted into the side of that brand new truck, was a perfectly matched pair of hoof prints. Don's friend let out a string of expletives that wilted the cactus flowers within the sound of his voice. He jumped to the truck, pulled the seat forward and retrieved the high powered rifle resting there. It took Don quite some time to wrestle the weapon from the man's hands, and persuade him to spare the life of that bull. The winning argument had something to do with the fact that the disrespectful creature's owner considered the bull to be a prize specimen; the animal would surely be worth a great deal of money. The fishing buddy and the free range bull gave each other one last disgusted look and parted company.
As Don's friend dropped him off and drove away in his "marked" vehicle, Don noticed a tear of frustration and sadness trickle down his buddy's cheek. The funny thing is that the guy never had his truck repaired. It seems that he received so much recognition from and conversation about those hoof prints that he left them where they were. Of course his story was exaggerated and embellished with time but the ultimate lesson is obvious. Listen closely to the advice of locals and don't mess with a free range bull; he just might kick your.....new truck!
Copyright©2004 Twin Rocks Trading Post
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