Boys will be boys

"Boys will be boys," reflected Jack, as he told me a story from his youth.

Seems when Jack was a teenager back in Ripley, Oklahoma, he and his teenage friend were serious about becoming bull riders. They had helped fix up the local rodeo arena, and that gave them chute privileges.

One week they replaced a chute gate. They had made the replacement themselves out of oilfield pipe, painted it and hung it up.

As they were admiring their handiwork, Jack remarked it was too bad they couldn't buck a real bull out of there for the inaugural 'grand opening'!

His pardner, Jack (also named Jack and hereinafter referred to as Jack Two), said, "Ya know, my dad just bought a brand new Charolais bull, I'll bet that sucker would buck!"

Jack One agreed that it would sure be better than practicin' on the buckin' barrel, and wasn't it a coincidence that Jack Two's dad was outta town for a couple days.

They took a quick trip to the ranch and soon had the big polled bull standing in chute number one. Jack Two set his rope and called for the bull. Jack One swung the new gate wide and Jack Two had a pretty good practice ride.

They ran the bull back around for another ride, but he was not nearly as cooperative in the chute. Matter of fact, he rammed his head sideways between the pipes and lifted the heavy gate right off the hinges on which it hung.

Out across the arena he bucked with the ten-foot gate around his neck and layin' on his back. Jacks One and Two chased the irate bull and cornered him. The bull turned, spotted his tormentors, lowered his head to charge and flipped straight over on his nose!

It took several minutes of flopping around and pulling for the gate to come free. The bull was considerably agitated but just dazed enough so the two Jacks could load him back in the trailer and get him back home.

Next day Jack Two's dad returned home. He saddled up and rode out to check the cows with Jack Two's uncle. The bull charged the horses and chased them out of the pasture. After two days of this, Dad decided they better sell the bull before someone got hurt.

He explained to his son, Jack Two, that the bull must have got a hold of locoweed or maybe some kind of heavy-metal poisoning which made him crazy.

"Yeah," thought Jack Two, "heavy metal, alright."

Baxter Black is a cowboy poet, former large-animal veterinarian and entertainer of the agricultural masses. Learn more at www.baxterblack.com.