Now, that's a bull.

Now, everyone who really knows me, knows bulls hold a soft spot in my heart. What other bovine is born with a 50/50 chance of being made into a steer and shipped off to feed lots? Sad, but true.

I've seen my fair share of bulls. Backyardigan average bulls, high class pure bred, mean ones, gentle ones, smart ones and dumb ones, but the first time I ever met the breed that I cannot seem to get enough of was around six years ago at a Tuesday night sale after LONG day of running cattle.

The cull bulls were usually left to the end of the night, so of course the sale ring was empty except for die hard spectators, cow hands, Mr. Stockyard himself, and cattle contract buyers. Did I mention bulls are my favorite? Well, I heard everyone kind of snickering and making jokes about the group coming in, but I didn't think much until the the swing gate operator ducked down behind the operator's wall inside the ring itself. I heard one buyer say, "all I have to do is outrun you and I'm good," to Mr. Stockyard, to which he replied, I'm too dang fat and too old to run, I'm just gonna hide behind this chair."

Let me paint the picture for you-the ring was open air with steel bars, oh lets say, 15 feet high to be on the safe side, and two solid steel automatic gates on either side. One gate lets the cattle inside and one lets the cattle out the other side. Welp, Mr. Stockyard was down close ringside running his mouth about something or another-promoting next week's sale more than likely-anyhow, we were sitting about four rows up, right smack in the middle where all the buyers sit. I asked Albert what all the fuss was about, because obviously I had missed the joke, which was all to often around all these cowboys. He told me there was a whole load of Braford bulls from Adams Ranch that had been culled and they were pretty rank. My eyes lit up like some kind of 5 year old on Christmas morning getting her first pony!! A Braford?? I sat straight up in my seat and could not wait for the 15 monsters to come running through the door. Then the comedy show really started.

The first big boy came through that door and his head was almost as high as the steel fence and boy was he NOT happy. He was arching that humongous neck and peeking over the top! Ol' Sweetie was ducked behind that operator's wall like a prairie dog hiding from the rain and that bull was a snorting and stomping and the cowboys were at last SILENT. Some decided it was time to make their exit as the bull was deciding how he was going to make his own and he didn't seem intent on that other door leading to the outside. That's when I heard Mr. Stockyard say, "You better let his ass outta here or he's coming to see me and he'll hurt me!" No one seemed to hear him clearly so he yelled it the next time and finally Ol' Sweetie managed to fumble enough to get the gate open and the bull ran through. The next ones came in hot and heavy and everyone was still laughing at the antics of Mr. Stockyard and his being keen on hiding behind a chair!

I couldn't get enough of the Brafords. Yeah, they were rowdy and these had probably not seen a human in many moons, but man, what a bull!! The sheer energy behind them. Sure, in the south, and in the stocker business it's all out too much ear or not enough ear or too much flesh or not too long this or that...but if I just had the time and money, Brafords is what I would have. Ask anyone who knows me. I have never convinced Albert that I need myself a Braford Steer as a pet. I don't know what the problem is. He will tell anyone I can take the toughest animal and ruin it-he has seen me do it. Had a cowboy tell me that I took his Catahoula Hound and ruined him with a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. I was the only person that could get in that man's truck with that dog. Man, I miss those days.

Anyway, go out and enjoy the sunshine today. Look up the Braford and enjoy what kind of time God spend on those creatures!