Before Silas could answer, a battered pickup rolled into the yard.
Buck Toiver climbed out, pulling his cap low over his forehead. At sixty-two, Buck had the narrow-eyed patience of a former trapper and the dry humor of a man who had outlived several bad ideas. He had worked part-time for Silas for years, mostly because he preferred animals to people and because Silas paid on time when he could.
Buck took one look at the trailer.
“Please tell me that isn’t what I think it is.”
“It’s a bull,” Silas said.
“You buy it?”
“No.”
Buck considered that. “That makes this worse.”
The driver slapped the clipboard against his palm. “Where do you want him?”
Silas knew the correct answer was nowhere. But the animal was already here. The driver was leaving with or without his cooperation. The bull could not stay in the trailer indefinitely. The nearest proper facility was hours away, and nobody was answering phones the week of Thanksgiving.
This story touched a part of me that has hurt underneath several careers and 65 years of life. I'm 71 now. My family is a long established name there. My memories of ranching, accidents, rodeo stock, flash floods and family loss are different than the way life is lived today. This story is magnificent, thank you for sharing it. And maybe there's hope for some of us humans that just need space and understanding. It's been 40 years since I became a civilian after 11 years as a
U.S. Marine. This story and that bull have more meaning than some will ever know. Thank you once again. Job well done.