I was visiting a childhood friend on his family farm about 3 miles outside of Rochester, MN. A typical dairy farm, it had a massive red barn with attached silo, cattle yards and pastures full of Holstein milk cows and chubby steers.
About 2:00 AM on a rainy Tuesday, there was a loud knock on the front door of the house. Through the upstairs window I heard a drunken man trying to articulate how he had lost control of his vehicle and lodged it into the side of their steel shed (he blamed the rain). He also indicated that he would be back to retrieve his car and fix the damage the next day. At that point I shut the window and went back to bed and imagined the spectacle.
Very early the next morning, we went down to survey the damage. The little red shed sat completely away from the main building site of the farm. Down a long sloping hill it sat, across a quarter mile of wide-open pasture. The building was originally designed to hold anything from equipment to livestock. What we saw was a chapter from the gospel of Bo and Luke of the Dukes of Hazard.
The car had entered the building in such a way that indicated it was airborne at impact. Most of it was still in the air, resting on a low cross brace. By good fortune, the car had impaled the building between major supporting beams, minimizing the damage to both.
Later that morning, our “night flyer” had arrived (now sober) with a companion to repair the building. My friend’s dad explained to the men that he would coax the farm’s only Holstein bull up into the cattle yard and lock it in. He went on to say that the notion of locking the bull in was something of a farce, since the bull was only locked in as long and he wished to be locked in. Then, my friend’s dad explained it again, and again. Each time emphasizing that the bull was not to be taken lightly.
I knew from personal experience, exactly what this meant. Over the years, we had many bulls reign on our farm back in Russell. Without exception they held a particular pattern of temperament. They would start out timid and shy upon arrival, just trying to figure out the lay of the land. By the time two years had gone by, they owned the place and wanted to destroy anything that wasn’t breeding material. The violence they would display near the end was fueled by pure rage - quite a sight. This was about the time we converted them into sticks of bologna.
After the men had been working for a few hours, a frantic driver came whipping into the farmyard yelling something about a bull having a man down in the pasture. We all grabbed various vehicles and wheeled outta there in a hurry. Little did we know, the family dog was already on the scene.
When we arrived, the men were nowhere in sight. The dog (a shepherd/husky) was taunting the bull with a brilliant pattern of attack and dodge. That dog would come at the bull from the side (right around the neck area), and bite whatever he could get his chops into (ears, hide etc.) When the massive bull would swing his head and try to wheel around, the dog would shuffle back and swing to the opposite side and do it all over again. With this method, he worked the bull up the hill, around the farm and out of sight.
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| We found one of the men, half clothed in the tall grass of the ditch. He had crawled in there with some busted ribs and various other injuries. From the grass and mud shoved all over the place, it was clear that the bull was trying to crush this guy against the mushy, rain-soaked ground. That rain, which the man was cursing the night before, was saving his life this day with some timely help from the dog. It turns out that his assistant was in town fetching additional materials.
Let’s take a moment to review how Holstein bulls communicate. Over the distance of a quarter mile, it would take between 20 and 45 minutes for these 2500 lb. charmers to be upon you. When they first see you, they move closer, while moaning and groaning, until they are sure you can see them (about 1/8 mi, maybe more). Then they stop, turn sideways, flex every muscle they have, snort, paw the ground, whip their tail and then look at you to see if they have convinced you to leave. If it appears you are still unconvinced, they will cut the distance separating you in half, stop, and do it all over again. They will repeat this entire sequence with little deviation, until they are within 5 to 10 feet of you.
NOTE TO SELF: This is that last, nifty opportunity to extend your life expectancy. Barring the decision to flee, the next and last thing you will see is the large ring in his flaring nostrils — and for a brief moment (emphasis on brief here) you are the only human being on the face of the Earth who can feel the breath of a 1-ton crushing machine and it isn’t through a fence.
We found out that our Norwegian Conquistador held the opinion that the overgrown Gateway Computer mascot was nothing more than a dumb cow (Holstein color patterns are used on Gateway’s product packaging). We also learned that his premeditated weapon of choice was a single, steel fence post. A steel fence post, while effective against actual mascots, has literally zero impact on a full-grown Holstein bull. An equivalent scenario would be clinging to the satellite dish on the roof of your home while aiming a 6-inch fan at the F-5 tornado in your back yard.
In the end, it still doesn’t pay to drink and drive. The bull eventually took his place in the bologna hall of fame. Don’t put your money on a Norwegian Conquistador. And, oh yes, the next time you see a 2500 lb. anything snortin’ your way, well, now you certainly know what not to do.
That’s my report from the big city.
Brian in the Big City
Employee #0090698
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