Stone Wall Standoff

Quickly, I stepped off the back of my horse, my belly grumbling from too many beans at breakfast and that extra cup of coffee I probably shouldn’t have had. Couldn’t be helped now. I found a low stone wall, perfect to shield my pride from prying eyes. I dropped my reins, trusting my old horse to stay put. I settled myself down, trying to avoid squatting on my spurs—a tricky dance that any cowhand knows all too well.

Just as I got comfortable, or as much as one can get in that situation, I looked up. My blood turned to ice. There, standing at the barrier, was a large black bull. It stood still, studying me with a victimless curiosity, its dark eyes locked onto mine.

“Oh, great,” I muttered, “of all the spots in this entire range, you had to pick mine.”

The bull didn’t budge–just stared me down. I could feel the tension rising. This beast wasn’t about to give up its new-found amusement.

“Alright, big fella,” I whispered, “you just stay there and I’ll finish up quick.”

But my body wasn’t cooperating. The cold sweat on my back didn’t help. I tried to focus, tried to ignore those dark, unblinking eyes.

I could hear my horse snorting behind me, likely wondering what I had gotten us into this time.

“Stay calm, old friend,” I thought, hoping my horse’s nerves would hold steadier than mine.

The bull took a step closer, its massive head lowering, snorting a breath that I could almost feel on my skin.

“Just great,” I mumbled, “now he’s getting curious.”

I started to straighten up, figuring maybe I could ease back to my horse and get out of there without incident.

But the bull took another step, and my heart hammered in my chest, “Easy now,” I muttered, “easy…”

I managed to get to my feet, hitching up my britches while keeping my eyes on the bull the whole time.

My muscles were tense, ready to spring. I inched my way backward, feeling the rough texture of the stone wall under my hands. “Don’t rush it,” I told myself, “keep it slow and steady.”

The bull watched, its eyes never leaving mine. Finally, I reached my horse. I grabbed the reins, my hands shaking slightly. “Time to go,” I whispered to my pony, mounting up with a swift, practiced movement.

As we started away, the bull took a few more steps toward the wall but then stopped. It seemed to lose interest, turning back towards the open range.

I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding.

“Well, that was close,” I said aloud to my horse.

The old boy just flicked his ears as if to say he’d seen worse. I patted his neck, grateful for his steady presence.

“Let’s find another spot,” I added, nudging him into a slow trot. “And maybe next time, I’ll skip that extra cup of coffee.”