Taming the Bull

Taming the Bull
By Gwen New

I had finished work in the dairy and prepared myself for going down to the field. As I came out of the dairy door the bull was throwing straw high into the air. I gulped, wishing he would go back into his pen. The dairy door was up in the corner, against the high wall surrounding “William’s Yard”. Straw threw into the yard and I grabbed a broom swept the rubbish into a heap, forked it back into his yard, scolding him as I did so.
“Will you behave yourself” I addressed him. He stopped and listened nose in the air. The suddenly I had a brain wave. I leaned a short ladder against the highest part of the wall. Took a dandy brush and climbed the rungs to look at him. He rolled his eyes and snorted.
“You don’t scare me, my handsome lad So come to me and I’ll brush you, You’ll like that, I wheedled” He faced me squarely and bashed his head against the wall. I trembled. The brush firmly in hand. I rubbed the bristles against the wall coping. It made a soothing swishing noise. He looked and he listened, slobbering. It became quite obvious the noise fascinated him. He lifted up his slobbering jaws, licked his nose, with his long rough tongue, curling his upper lip back in rapture. “I’ve cracked it,” I thought to myself. Immediately I began to brush his outstretched neck. He almost went weak at the knees. He would not let me stop my scratching movement with my brush for some considerable time. “Are we mates then, Will, I crooned?” Thereafter we were mates. He would rush hurriedly to the gate at my appearing on the yard and the noises from him then on were soft and flirty. The only drawback, I was frequently demanded by him to get the brushing action. But that was small penance to pay being harassed by him all the time. Arriving a bit late down the field, Mr Macdonald asked,
“I expected you long afore this lassie, where have you been?”

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