A (true) story about a bull Villagers of McGregor have always enjoyed a good party…preferably without any proper, logical excuse, of course. To illustrate, one can rather safely say that there are few places in this world where St.Patrick’s Day and Burns’ Night are celebrated cheek-by-jowl with the same gusto and by the same mob of people, than here. A mad-hatters’ tea party and the summer solstice are both wonderful opportunities for having a bit of fun too. In fact, so is the Titanic party, celebrated from time to time on the eve of 14 April, when the fateful evening is recreated as close to real life as possible – complete with an upper and lower deck, menus to match, fancy dress, the works. Therefore, it is not difficult to explain why Carol’s “once-a-month-in-summer-sushi-&-steak-rolls-on-the-stoep” Saturdays are such a hit. Sushi is prepped at sparrow’s on the day, chairs are hauled from every imaginable corner, most tables are carried onto the stoep, the grill is lit and all and sundry in the gully knows: It is going to be a long, but fun day. |
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It was on one such a Sushi Day in summer that
Herbert arrived. On a bright, sunny
afternoon the stoep was hopping with the cacophony of people having a good
time, talking and laughing and just generally making merry. Enter Herbert. From over the hill, the young bull had
strolled quietly down the main road and right up to the blackboard with the
menu on it… seemingly interested in the fare on offer. This was when a local farmer and animal lover
decided that the poor bull looked a tad on the hungry side… and thirsty. So, Jackie very gallantly took the young bovine
by the rope (being a gentleman, the horns were not an option) and rather
unceremoniously welcomed it to the party.
He led it in the front door, down the passage, past the lounge, through
the kitchen and into the backyard, down the garden path and into the herb &
veggie patch. Here, the bull was fed &
watered to its belly's content and promptly christened "Herbert". Now,
before you think that steak-rolls really don’t get any fresher than this, think
again. Truth is, they probably don’t,
but in an establishment where one does most of the hard manual labour yourself,
there was not a single chance that the opportunity of obtaining a live, automatic
lawnmower would have been missed… and so it
was then. Herbert stayed and Carol had a new best friend. The two of them became quite close in a ‘gardening
buddy’ sort of a way. They spent a lot
of time together, moving around from patch to patch, inspecting weeds, seeds
& dandelions… For once there was
someone who understood that there was no need for the scorched earth policy, as
so rigidly enforced by the occasional-gardener-in-service. In fact, they became very good friends, Carol
and the bull. …until one blue morning, about two weeks
later, when Herbert somehow managed to free himself rather skillfully from his
chewing-station-of-the-moment. He
trotted up to Carol with some haughtiness in his gait, paused for a few seconds to look her
straight in the eye and then, without any warning, bolted out the back gate and
started leaping down the main road… She followed him & saw him stopping only for a quick
browse through the gallery window, before disappearing over the horizon in a
puff of dust, hooves clacking on the warm tarmac. It was at this very moment that she realized that, perhaps… after all, ‘Houdini’ would have been a far more suitable name for the wandering bull. Herbert Houdini the Bull can still sometimes be seen on clear summer nights in McGregor. If you stand in the middle of the main road and look really carefully at the full or the crescent moon, with one eye slightly squinted and a glass of good wine in one hand, you will be ever so lucky to see him jumping over the old hunk of cheese... |
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