We all stood real quiet, nobody wanting to go on this adventure, but no one wanting to dispute Furlow. We looked at our feet, then at one another. Nobody chose to look at Furlow. The silence didn’t dampen his resolve, though. He just looked at us shook his head. Across the wooden fence, the young bull calf looked at us, and I’ll swear he had a grin on his face.
“Here’s what we’ll do,” Furlow said. “We’ll herd him into that chute and then I’ll tie this rope around him like us cowboys do.” He made a motion describing the action in case we couldn’t understand words. “Then,” he said, “I’ll get on and ya’ll will let him out.” He smiled. “I’ll show him who’s boss.”
Before we could act, he climbed over the fence and was in the pen with the calf, who had quit smiling.
I don’t know who moved first, maybe it was T-Boy. He always stood up for his race. I saw him one time beat Teddy Ratliff over half the county for calling him a, well I won’t say what he called him but it got Teddy’s rear end kicked over half the county. I’m pretty sure he followed Furlow first so as to plant a flag for bravery. Anyway, first thing you know, we were all in the pen and closing in on the calf, who looked for one second like he was going to charge us and the next like he was going to break the fence down and run. He chose and just stood there waiting.
The chute Furlow mentioned ran near the side of the barn at the far end of the pen. Mister General Lee had fixed two wide boards at the far end so that if you ran a cow or calf down the chute and it stuck its head between the two boards you could pull the one that pivoted with an attached rope and catch the creature’s head so you could give it a worm pill or whatever. The outside of the chute at that point consisted of a gate that could be swung open and, after the cow’s head was released, you could let it out into the pen.
Are you beginning to get picture?
Good. It didn’t us long to herd the bull calf into the chute and down to its end. He didn’t resist much. In fact, he seemed to be enjoying it. Furlow had climbed up and had one foot on each side of the chute when the calf reached the end.
“Now pass that rope through,” he said to the two on either side of the chute and direct them to handle the ends as he drew them up and drew them up so he could hold them in one hand like you’ve seen the cowboys do. He lowered himself down until he settled down on the calf’s back in a rider’s position and pulled the ends of the rope together and held them tight in his right hand. He relaxed, took a breath, and motioned, just like a real rodeo star, for Boogy to open the gate.
Some say he made two bounds. Some say three, but it sure wasn’t more than that before the calf’s butt went straight up the air and Furlow went horizontal over where the calf’s head had been a second before but which had led a sharp turn that allowed Furlow’s body to land in a vacant spot two feet away and bounce before it settled into a dusty heap. We all ran over.
We were happy to see Furlow lift himself up chest first and bounce to his feet. “Was that a full eight seconds? he asked. Nobody spoke. “I don’t think I quite made it, he said. He looked at the calf who was standing ten feet away with the biggest smirk on his face you ever saw.
We all looked at one another, glad for the adventure to be over and for Furlow still standing. “That was some ride,” someone said.
Run that sonofabitch back in there,” Furlow said. “And somebody get that other piece of rope.”
Next week: Conclusion, or how much damage can one person on a crazy bull calf do.
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