One day during the summer between our junior and senior years of high school, we were on our way to the swimming hole. Of course, we had to make our usual dash across the pasture. 

This time, however, Ol’ Snort almost got us. We reached the oak tree just in time.

“Whew, that was close,” said Buster. “I felt his horns on the bottom of my shoes as I climbed the tree.” 

Instead of splashing in the swimming hole, we sat in the tree for nearly three hours. 

It was over one hundred degrees that day. For hours the bull leisurely ate the shady grass below us. 

Any attempt to get out of the tree would have resulted in being gored, trampled, and left for dead. 

This bull was keen on two things besides eating: mating with the cows and trying to eliminate the kids that cut through the pasture. 

We accepted this bull as a threat to our lives. Looking back as an adult, it seems strange that we did. 

This bull was intent on killing us. And we just dealt with him as if he was a part of the landscape. 

The bull finally moved far enough away for us to run back to the gate. Our swimming hole activities were cancelled. 

Ol’ Snort gave chase but wasn’t as speedy as before. Maybe the heat affected him too. 

Buster, angry about wasting a day to swim, vowed revenge. I accepted the situation with more grace than Buster did. 

To be honest, I always felt relieved when I lived through the run for the back fence. 

Buster’s father had a pellet rifle that he kept in the back of the house. He used it to keep the foxes from bothering the hens. 

It could pump up to .22 caliber strength. Both Buster and I had taken the gun a few times for shooting expeditions.

We weren’t supposed to use it without Lafayette around, but that never stopped us. 

Buster hurried home and grabbed the pellet rifle. Shoving it down his pant leg, he walked stiff legged until he was beyond sight of his home. Then he pulled out the rifle, pumping it as he walked. 

He reached maximum power as he got to the gate at Miller’s pasture. Ol’ Snort stood halfway between the gate and the oak tree. 

He paid little attention to the boy with the pellet gun. 

In Buster’s defense, I knew he had always been kind to animals. So, he aimed at the bull’s rear. 

He only wanted to give the bull a little discomfort, as the bull had done to us for most of the afternoon.

“I just want you to have a sore rear like I do. You kept me in that tree for three hours, Snort,” Buster grumbled.

As Buster squeezed the trigger, the bull moved. Instead of getting shot in the rear, the pellet hit the bull’s scrotum. 

His head jerked up, eyes wide. He started running like crazy. A sound came out of his mouth like a low train whistle. 

The bull ran right through the north fence, ending up in farmer Miller’s barnyard. 

Mrs. Miller ran from the coop area, dropping the eggs she’d been collecting. The two Miller kids barely made it inside the barn before the bull charged them. 

Mr. Miller was working in the tool shed when he saw the mad bull attack his family.

“Everybody stay where they are,” yelled the farmer. “He’s gone mad. He’ll kill one of us if he can.”

The farmer grabbed his hunting rifle. As the bull ran toward the shed, the farmer shot him between the eyes. The bull stopped three feet short of the farmer and fell to one side. 

The Millers gave bull meat to all their neighbors. 

It turned out that the bull was past his breeding prime. The farmer planned to shoot and butcher the bull soon anyway. Buster had only hurried the demise of his enemy.

Buster felt very bad about the incident. But I was the only one he ever told what really happened that day. 

I felt a little funny when Julia Miller, the farmer’s daughter, brought us a piece of bull steak. But I knew that if I had ever stumbled while being chased by Ol’ Snort, it would have been my misfortune before his.

Fittingly, they gave Buster’s family a rump roast…

Buster put the rifle back without being detected. The Millers never figured out why their bull had gone berserk. 

Their new bull appeared very shy. He took little notice when we ran through the pasture. 

We called the replacement bull Ferdinand.