One summer afternoon when I was ten years old, I walked to primary meeting with a friend. In those days, primary was held during the week, and the old rock chapel in Kaysville was a good three miles from our home. School was out and we had plenty of time to get there, so we took a back dirt road that meandered around fenced fields. My friend Brent and I were getting tired of the road tracing around three sides of some fields, so we inspected one to cut across. The field was about five acres in size, and was vacant except for some black bulls that were resting in the shade at one far end. Since we were right at the middle, we jumped the fence at that point and started on our way. We were exactly half way, when suddenly, our distant company of sedate bulls sprang into action and decided to charge us. I remember running for our little lives, and we literally ran up and dove over the distant barbwire fence. What I recall, besides my life flashing before my eyes, was a wall of angry snorting bulls up against the fence, and that I tore my new red flannel shirt on the barbs in the process.
LESSON LEARNED: Never wear a red flannel shirt when crossing a field of bulls.
FEEDBACK: WHAT NEAR-MISS DEATH STORIES DO YOU RECALL?
No comments:
Post a Comment