on bulls and men

My first encounter with a bull, and when I say encounter I mean more than just seeing one, was somewhere around the age of seven years old. I was in the barnyard pen, licking from a cow salt lick with a crew of boys. Yes, it was a well-used salt lick, but we didn’t care. We thought it was the most wildly delicious blue salt on planet earth. As we jockeyed for prime licking spots, one of the boys announced the arrival of the bull who had sauntered out from under a shady overhang.

If a bull could sashay with spurs on his boots and a slow, smirk on his face, that’s what this bull was doing. He was an older fella, packed to bursting with muscle, all shoulder and neck, chewing on his cud while he eyed us up. I wasn’t sure what to make of the situation, but happily followed suit when the mouthiest boy in our group started making faces at the bull and yelled out the worst taunt of our time, “Kindergarten baby, wash yer face in gravy!” As any pack of wild coyotes do, the rest of us echoed his teasing in earnest. With shrill laughter, we wiggled our bums and made faces while the bull looked on unamused.

Suddenly, he stopped chewing his cud, lowered his head and started pawing at the ground, throwing great clouds of dry earth up behind him. 

“Curious,” I thought. 

Seconds later the bull was charging and the boys, already versed in the likelihood of this happening, all had a lead on me. In the split second lag it took for my brain to register “DANGER!”, each boy had a few feet gain on our race to the safety of the fence line. But man, did I run! With the thundering weight of hooves pounding on my heels, I reached the wood fence in just enough time to throw myself over and land on my back. When I opened my eyes, that huge beast with the curly brown hair was snorting and pressing against the rails inches from my face. 

The boys laughed. I laughed. “Hahahaha!” I mean, what else does one do when they’re young and pretending they fear nothing? We taunted some more as if we had somehow won the battle with the bull and finally left him to reign over his barnyard once again. But I went back to that bull later that night, when I was safe from the chiding of feral kids and I watched him. He was, again, chewing his cud, but this time two of the cows and a calf were lying beside him. All of them in meditative peace, eyes glazed over in a trance beyond where they lay. Everyone was calm and the scene so pleasant as the sun set on that big sky prairie. I remember feeling bad that we had bugged him. He wasn’t a monster after all.

 Thus began my love affair with bulls. Of all the farm animals, I can think of no other that has my affections quite like a well mannered bull. We’ve owned a few bulls over the years. I would have one always, if it made sense for us to do so, but with our small farm and small herd, it’s challenging to keep a bull. Within a year of keeping one, we’d be looking at splitting up our herd to keep young heifers away from their original sire. It becomes a bit of a logistical juggling act. So it’s always with great appreciation and delight when we can bring a bull back on our farm for breeding season. It feels like all is right again. That may seem grandiose a statement, but it’s quite literal. Let me explain.

Last weekend, a young Devon bull arrived here on loan from nearby farmer pals. He came off the truck and walked directly into a herd of excited cattle. That’s a weird situation for a bovine. Their entire worlds are based around hierarchies. In each herd, everyone has and knows their place. If you’re at the bottom of the hierarchy, you wait to eat no matter how hungry you are. If you’re at the bottom, you don’t walk past a higher positioned cow, you walk around, far around. Anytime anyone gets out of line, there are immediate repercussions. Cows are constantly smashing each other, pushing each other, jockeying for an elevated position in the hierarchy. So imagine, getting off a trailer as a young bull and walking into a pasture with fifteen beasts all clamouring to get at you, to sniff you, and chase you and figure out where you are in the grand scheme of life’s order and you, the new guy on the block, having to exert dominance and confidence from the get go.

It’s not unlike humans in many ways, but the profound beauty of the animal world is that they are lacking pretence. They don’t pretend these things aren’t happening because of civility. Imagine walking into a room, I’m sure we’ve all done it, where everyone knows each other and you’re the odd one out. In we must go, confident, friendly, entertaining, but Lord above, don’t look desperate, right? It’s energy mostly, but we like to cover that up with words, nice clothes, and hairdos. But still, there’s only so far those things can take us. The energy remains.

And that brings me back to the bull. To me, a good bull is very much like a good man. He is a gentleman inside of a contained power. It’s a beautiful thing, really. A bull is representative of so much that is being held up as ‘wrong’ with men, but in reality is what is most extraordinary. It’s the steadiness, the centring and grounding force that their mere presence creates.

A herd of female cows and heifers along with some steers (castrated bulls) will always have a cow as the boss. If the cow is solid and calm, it goes well enough. But there is a vibration to a herd like that. A sense of something missing. There are always bonds in the group, but there’s also a nucleus that’s missing for them to rally around. Now, enter the bull.

The bull, the good bull, is the de facto leader. That doesn’t mean he goes around smashing all of the other cattle into submission. Not at all. In fact, it’s quite usual that the other cattle will challenge him to see what he’s made of. What that looks like with cattle is head to head pushing and shoving. It’s a battle of power using force instead of words or material goods like we tend to do. Even the heifers and cows will get in on the act with a new bull. Everyone needs to see what the fella’ is made of. A powerful bull could destroy some of the young whipper snappers trying to take him on, but I’ve never seen that happen. Usually the bull displays force, just enough, to convince the challenger that eating grass is a better idea than challenging him. And then, the challenger, having lost, has also won. He now knows his place in a herd that has a powerful leader in charge. That’s security for a herd animal.

When our young visiting bull arrived here the other day, it was the lead cow, the one who has been in charge in the absence of a bull, that was most aggressive in taking him on. The exchange went a little like this:

Mischa (boss cow): What are you doing here? We don’t need you! Get out of my way! I got this covered! I’m the boss! I don’t need no bull.

Bubby (the bull): And yet, here I am.

Head smashing commences in earnest. Mischa is relentless. Bubby mustn’t let her win under any circumstance. The herd watches in anticipation! Who is this strange fellow and how dare he take on Boss Mischa! The farmers bite their nails while watching from the fence.

Mischa: Give up! Get lost! I’m an independent cow! This is 2022, not 1950! Cows can do it without a bull! A cow needs a bull like a fish needs a bicycle!

Bubby: I’m a patient guy.

I will relieve you all of the suspense in reading this saga of love and lust. Bubby handily won the exchange with Mischa sauntering away all nonchalant, mumbling something about “I didn’t want to play that stupid game anyway” under her breath.

It’s been a few days now with this fine young bull in our herd and like all of the bulls he descends from, he has brought with him a calm and a settling to our herd which ripples throughout the farm. The steers won’t leave him alone. If he gets up and saunters over to the water, he has a crew of fans following close behind. He has something special, even more special than just his nuts. He has presence and a soft domination that makes him alpha and the others know it. But they’re not resentful. They’re just happy to be in his presence. And the cows and heifers? Well, he already has a loyal following there, too.

A good bull knows how to enter a room. He is more than his power because he contains it. Jordan Peterson says, “Well if you’re harmless you’re not virtuous. You’re just harmless. You’re like a rabbit. A rabbit isn’t virtuous, it just can’t do anything except get eaten. It’s not virtuous. If you’re a monster and you don’t act monstrously, then you’re virtuous, but you also have to be a monster.” 

That I can walk amongst such a beast and he regards me with ease has become one of the most powerful and symbolic of all my interactions with the natural world. Imagine that? The enormity of that? Of having an animal weighing tons that could destroy me with ease only come to see me as acceptable to keep around. Why exert aggression without reason? Why attack without sufficient ground? He knows what he is. He knows what he is capable of. His smooth and quiet confidence need no victim to exist. He is conscious of his might and so are those around him.

 I don’t think it’s surprising that so many women often write comments to me when I write or show pictures of our bulls. They are drawn to them in the same way that we are drawn to all creatures that exude a steady power without maleficence. “I could but I won’t.” It’s mighty. It’s beautiful. Maybe more young men and women spending time observing the beautiful beasts of creation would help to blow away some of the chaff of our societal trends. Nature as touchstone of truth. I think so. Either way, I remain, forever awed by the magnificence of an animal fully realised in all it was blessed to be endowed with. What a marvel.