Of blogs, I've had a few.

 I started out blogging on Yahoo way back in the old days of dial up, and eventually moved to the Blogger platform in my later years.  My previous blog was much more fantastical than this incarnation; I've tried to mature in tone and subject as I mature in real time.  I've been perusing some of my older posts and I think from time to time I may repost them here for my own amusement.  The following post was from a time long gone, when my then husband and I were raising all kinds of livestock and living simply.

Aesop, 2006

Some years ago, my enterprising brother-in-law noticed our empty paddock and decided it looked like a cozy spot for his cows. We became custodians of a beautiful little heifer named Princess, and a damned fine Hereford bull named John. I was tickled pink by our new bovine wards despite the fact that they were not acclimated to human contact and avoided us like the plague. John, however, was a little braver than his counterpart, and would allow a scratch session now and then through the fence. Going into their area was a whole different ballgame.

One day, my then husband and I decided that these two needed to become used to two-legged pasture mates, so we ventured forth into the forbidden zone. Now, the best way to put an animal at ease is to 1.) ignore them completely and go about your business; curiosity kills more than just cats, and 2.) do not make eye contact. Direct eye contact is considered a threat by many animals. So, this was what we did. For a time, the two wily creatures just watched us, not really interested in approaching any closer than necessary, but not turning tail to run, either. All seemed well until I noticed a few shards of broken glass glimmering upon the ground. Not wanting one of our wards to injure themselves upon said glass, I bent over to pick it up. Well, apparently the sight of my double wide gluteus maximus was more than John could bear, and it incited him to launch into a full-blown charge in my direction, complete with bellowing snorts and violent head tossing. Concentrating on my task at hand, I had no idea that eight hundred pounds or so of enraged beef was pounding down upon me until my husband's frantic hollering brought me to attention. 

I turned and stared death in the eyes. 

Panicked, I began running for the barn, ignoring my husband’s sage advice to get behind a tree. As John came bearing down upon me, I realized I was not going to make it into the barn and over the stall wall in time and desperately looked for something to put between myself and this bloodthirsty creature. I headed for the nearest tree and positioned myself behind a sapling about two inches in diameter. 

Nice choice. 

But it worked; John stopped dead in his tracks and just stared at me with murderous intent, not sure how to get around this most unformidable obstacle. Eventually he became bored and plodded off to explore another area of the pen, and I was able to exit his domain unscathed.

The moral of this story? 

If you're not prepared to deal with the bull, don't present yourself as an ass.