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The Steer
by Tom Woodard
If you go to McShan Lake today, near Melrose, you will see nothing but pine trees across the highway from the dam, but when I was young all the land across from the lake was a huge pasture, stretching all the way from Highway 82 to the Gulf, Mobile & Ohio railroad tracks, about a mile away. And a fellow rented that pasture and kept a herd of cows there [this is the same pasture where I kept my mare, Bess - see Some Horse Stories.
When we, my siblings and cousins, were young, we would sometimes venture into that pasture to play, tho we had to be careful, always, not to step into a fresh cow "patty". They tended to be everywhere and, when dry, were quite harmless. But if still fresh, you would find your shoes covered in a slimy green mess which stank like all get out, and was almost impossible to remove. Let's not even mention how nice it was to step into one barefooted!
One day, when I was about fifteen or sixteen, I was down in that pasture alone, down below the old Melrose mansion, just goofing off and walking around. There were cows here and there but I didn't think much of it, 'til I noticed that this particular steer, with horns that had never been cut and which curled around with the sharp ends pointing forward, much like the horns of the fighting bulls in Spain and Mexico, had taken a particular interest in me.
Bulls are what you're supposed to have to worry about, and no bulls were around. However, for some reason this lone steer must have had "visions of grandeur", perhaps still being a bull at heart, and suddenly he decided to charge me. Before I knew it, he was at a full gallop and headed right for me, with head lowered and horns pointed! Well, what to do? I was well out in the middle of that pasture, with no cover anywhere, so I did what came natural: I ran like the devil!
In the middle of that pasture was a creek, which in slavery times had been straightened into a straight-lined channel, with vertical banks on either side about head high. I well imagine that back in those days that field, come Fall, would have been white with cotton. That day, however, I wasn't thinking about cotton! My only chance was to make it to that ditch. Tho I was running as hard and fast as I could, that ol' horned steer was gaining on me, and when I neared the creek/ditch, I saw that it was filled with blackberry briers! But with the steer now almost upon me, when I reached the bank I did not hesitate but jumped directly into those briers, which were as thick as they could be. Man, when I landed on my feet I was standing about seven or eight foot deep in those briers and scratched and bleeding all over! I thought then of Brier Rabbit, and sort of felt a kinship at that moment, being completely encased in thick, thorny briers as I was.
That ol' steer charged right up to that bank, at full speed, and then put on the brakes, throwing dirt and grassy clods everywhere! There he stood, right over me and peering down into those briers with a sort of perplexed look on his face. Thus he remained for several minutes, until a look of boredom came upon him and he walked away - no doubt feeling that he had vanquished the foe! I waited 'til he was well away and then began the laborious process of attempting to disentangle myself from that thicket of briars, which took quite a while, I assure you.
Now I'm not in the habit of inhabiting brier patches, but I have always thought that on that particular day Brier Rabbit didn't have a thing on me!
Copyright May 21st, 2008, by Tom Woodard
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