I worked at a stock pavilion for a spell on a day labor basis. This was a place that sold cattle and hogs on the hoof, by auction. Like a pizza if you had a bird’s-eye view, the center was the show ring with movie theater seating above for bidders to observe the animals brought into the ring. The “pie slices” around this, like the pizza, were pens and gates. When a gate was opened the animal(s) ran in the only direction they could, into the ring, were bid on and purchased, driven from the ring into another pen.
They sold old dairy herds, new dairy herds, calves and piglets but it seems the biggest part of the business was stud bulls and boar hogs; monstrous creatures. The bulls are dangerous animals, huge and ferocious. A strong fence between you and them still sends a shutter of fear thru you especially if you catch their eye which is full of fury and madness.
One day a Brahman bull was brought in. He was called Diablo, (I think they must all be Diablo.), weighing in at 2,300 pounds of megaton rage. Enclosed in a heavy steel mesh trailer, the trick was to get him into the pavilion and a pen. He slammed the roof of that trailer so hard the trailer itself bounced off the ground. This was ferocity unleashed.
Sure enough, as I watched, this incredible colossus somehow got between the trailer, gate and the eight foot fence and in an instant with the grace of a ballet dancer, like some Pixar character, catapulted himself into the parking lot and was gone. It was surreal. A posse of cowboys saddled up, and within moments was pursuing the animal. We were soon hearing minute by minute reports on the walkie-talkies back at the pavilion.
Diablo made it onto the interstate where fortunately before disaster struck he got down into the thick growth in the median between the North and South bound highways. State Police wanted to shoot him for fear of a road accident but this was an extremely valuable breeding bull.
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Finished for the day I went to the pay window to collect my cash and in front of me was an old black man; a white haired fellow maybe 75 yrs. The paymaster a woman counted out $200 cash and thanked him for catching the bull. He turned and walked toward the parking lot at a slow limping pace. Grabbing my money I followed and quickly caught up with him and said hello. “That woman said you captured the bull today.” “ Yes sa” he said as we walked. “How’d you do that I asked,” noting his obvious age and lack of mobility. “Just me and my beagles sa,” he said as we approached his old powder blue pickup truck with a homemade kennel mounted on the back. Inside was a pack of yapping Beagles. “Well how on Earth is that? “ This is what he said.
“Well sa I go down in the holla with my dogs and they surround him yapping and yipping, and in a minute ya see they’d got him spinning round and stomping the ground and he can’t do nuthin. I tie a rope to a tree with a slipknot ya see and toss it out on the ground and he’s stamping his leg around you see and when he steps in that loop I tighten it right up. And I do that with all four legs ya see till he can’t move no more. Then I wrap a coat-hanger round his scrotum and walk him outta the bush. Just like a baby sa.”
He said his name was Rufus King. I always remembered that picturesque name.
Sounds almost unbelievable but that’s was the story I got that day.
