Legacy

When Johnny was 10, his daddy brought home a yearling bull calf. It was the biggest news on the family’s ranch in some years. In fact, it was the biggest news in Leflore County for quite some time.

At dinner the night before he went to pick up the bull calf, Johnny’s daddy told the family that he was naming it Legacy. When Johnny asked what that meant, his daddy simply replied, “You’ll understand once this ranch becomes yours one day.”

The next morning, Johnny was riding bikes with his best friend Ricky through the green hills of the family’s pasture. A dust cloud rising from the dirt road alerted them to the arrival of Legacy. They raced to where the new pen had been set up for the bull.

“Is that him? Is that Legacy?” Johnny asked as his daddy backed the enclosed trailer into the barn.

“Yes, son, that’s him. Just make sure you stay outside his pen; I don’t want you getting hurt.”

Though he didn’t understand the fuss over getting a bull, Johnny fully understood how dangerous bulls could be. He’d seen the big one on Ricky’s farm. Brutus, they called him. It was huge and had two hooked horns that looked like they would stab right through him should Brutus ever decide to charge.

He looked at the small, enclosed trailer and wondered something so big could fit in such a small trailer.

When his daddy leaned back to open the trailer, Johnny also instinctively braced for the bull to run out – almost expecting the bull to charge him the moment the door opened. As soon as the gate opened, his daddy sprinted and leapt over the gate in one jump.

It was a good thing, too. The bull jumped from the trailer and began to buck, burning the excess energy and anxiety that being cooped in the trailer had built up. Johnny took a step back from the gate then stopped. He squinted at the bull.

Or, what they said would be a bull. That ain’t no bull, he thought. He’s way too small to be a bull. Where’s his horns?

Johnny trudged over to where his and Ricky’s daddy were talking, each with one cowboy boot propped on the second bar of the gate.

“Daddy, I thought you was bringing back a bull.”

“I did, son. And a fine one at that.”

“But… that ain’t no bull! He ain’t got no horns, and he’s so small! Brutus is much bigger.”

His daddy looked to Ricky’s father. “Give me a minute, Harvey.” Harvey nodded and walked around the side of the pen to get a better look at the young, bucking bull.

“Bulls don’t just come out big and strong like that, son. They start out small, just like you did.”

“Then they ain’t bulls yet. Just like I ain’t a daddy yet. Daddies ain’t small, just like bulls ain’t s’posed to be!” The logic was undeniable, at least to Johnny.

His dad chuckled. “Well, I guess you’re right. No one would mistake Brutus for being small, would they?”

Johnny shook his head.

“Well, he’s big like that because Mr. Harvey fed him well and made sure he got lots of exercise. He didn’t start out that big.” He paused, then chuckled. “Can you imagine how big a heifer would have to be to give birth to Brutus?”

Johnny burst out laughing at the thought of such an enormous cow. Of course he knew that heifers never gave birth to huge bulls like Brutus. He’d just never thought of what bulls were like before they became fully grown.

“That’s how weanlings like Legacy grow up to be big, strong bulls, through proper diet and exercise.” His daddy’s face grew stern; he seemed to stare at nothing in the distance. “And that’s the only thing that matters in this world, son. How big and strong you are. This guy will get to over 2,000 pounds before too long, and he needs to be. He has to be able to fight, to protect the heifers and his calves. He can only do that if he’s the biggest, strongest, baddest bull around.”

*****

Johnny grew alongside Legacy, with both increasing in size and maturity as the years passed. Johnny’s chubby cheeks and childhood innocence gradually transformed into a square jawline and a deeper voice. So too did the years change Legacy. His rock-hard skull sprouted dueling horns on either side, each hooked to as to point the tip at whatever he charged at. Legacy’s frame also grew to fit his massive weight; Legacy ended up well over 2,000 pounds as Johnny’s daddy said he would. Johnny and Ricky had numerous arguments, and even a few fights, about whether Legacy or Brutus was the bigger, badder bull – a contest by proxy of their budding manhood.

While Johnny’s love for Tonka trucks and mud morphed into what would be a lifelong appreciation of the female form, his willingness to engage with the fairer sex lagged behind his desire. Legacy held no such reservations. By his fourth year on the ranch, he’d already begun increasing its bovine population.

After Johnny turned 18 and graduated from Leflore High, he met up with Ricky and their friend David every weekend for a bonfire and a few cold ones. One such Saturday night, after a few too many Bud Lights, the topic of conversation once again turned to their favorite topic: women. Or, at least what they each claimed to know about women.

David began by regaling Ricky and Johnny with the latest tongue trick his girlfriend had learned from Cosmo. As he weaved his way through the story, one that Johnny had doubts as to whether it was true or not, Legacy strolled next to the fence near the fire. He snorted loudly, interrupting David in the middle of his big moment. Johnny cut in while he had the chance.

“Speaking of women, this here’s the man! Ain’t you, Legs?” Johnny turned to the illuminated faces of his two buddies. “See, Legs never has to ask, or smooth talk a girl, to hump her. He don’t have to bother with wining and dining. He just mounts up and goes to town!”

The three cracked up at the mention of mounting up, accompanied by pantomimed bull rides and moans that Johnny presumed sounded like a girl in bed. He had no idea. But he could never tell his friends that he was still a virgin.

Ricky was the first to recover from the laughing fits. “Yeah man, that’s why the biggest and baddest are sires. Like our Brutus Jr., or his father before him. They take what they wants and sure as hell don’t let no other bulls try to take their heifers. Both of them would’ve messed anyone up if they stumbled into his pen.”

Johnny nodded. “That’s what it’s all about. Getting to be the biggest and baddest. That’s how you get the women.”

The three nodded in agreement. The alcohol and remnants of pubescent hormones added a perceived depth and wisdom to Johnny’s words.

And so, Johnny believed that what makes a man included the number of women he could bed.

*****

“Why do you still have that picture of Legacy hanging up in the barn, daddy?” Alex pointed to the framed broadside photo of the long-deceased bull.

Johnny looked down at Alex, smiling as he noticed the boy’s little cowboy boot propped on the metal gate like his. “That guy was very special to me. I grew up with him, ever since he was a yearling. I learned a lot from that bull.”

Alex furrowed his little brow. “The bull taught you? What could a bull teach you?”

“Mother Nature has a lot to teach you if you pay attention, son. Legacy taught me valuable lessons that I still use to this day.”

“Huh? Like what?”

“Well, for starters, I learned the importance of eating everything off your plate if you wanna get big and strong.” Johnny cast a sideward glance at Alex, pausing to emphasize the not-so-subtle hint. “I watched Legacy grow from the size of a small heifer to the big guy you see in that photo. He would’ve never done that if he didn’t finish his meals like he was supposed to.”

Alex squinted his eyes and stuck his tongue out. “Bleh! Mommy makes too many vegetables. I hate carrots.”

Johnny chuckled. “I know, but you know how she gets if you leave any on your plate. There’s a reason for that. Look at Monster out there. He’s even bigger than Legacy, and he started around the same size. He would keep eating if we fed him more, he knows how important it is to eat all his veggies.”

At the mention of Monster, Alex’s eyes lit up. “You’re right, Monster is way bigger than Legacy looks in that picture. We should put a picture of him up instead.”

“Why, just because he’s bigger?”

Alex nodded his head vigorously, driving his point home. “Exactly! It’d be a much cooler picture to have up, the biggest, baddest bull in the whole county!”

Johnny shrugged. “Maybe someday you’ll hang a picture of Monster up there when this ranch is yours. But by then, you might accidentally learn the same lesson that Legacy taught me: that you don’t have to be the biggest or strongest to be special.”

“But…but Pawpaw said that ain’t nothing more important than being the biggest and strongest.

Johnny looked out over the pasture, thinking back to the day his father arrived with Legacy. He had leaned against this very gate like his dad did, and like Alex was doing now. “He told me the same thing when I was your age. In some ways, he’s not wrong; it’s important to grow up big and strong.

“But Legacy was never the biggest bull, nor was he the strongest. What he was was a protector. Everyone knew better than to go into the pen with him and his heifers. He was more than big enough to protect his family.”

The two stared in silence at the grazing herd for a minute. Johnny thought back to the day his dad brought Legacy home. What he’d said that day.

“Your Pawpaw told me the day he brought him home that one day I would understand why he named him Legacy. Do you know what that word means, son?”

Alex shook his head as Johnny expected.

“Legacy just means what you leave behind you after you’re gone. And it was the perfect name for that bull.”

“Why’s that?”

“Well, after Legacy died, no one talked about how big or how strong he was. When they talked about him, they talked about this ranch, the life we have here, and that huge herd of cattle. They talked about the legacy he built. That was his last lesson to me – and his most important one.”

Alex looked up, tilting his head back far enough to see past the brim of his little cowboy hat. “What do you mean?”

“Well, it won’t matter how strong or how tough I am when my time comes and the Lord takes me up to Heaven. People ain’t gonna talk about how many muscles I had or how many fights I won. None of that’s gonna matter.

"The only thing that'll matter is this here family and our home here on the ranch. He taught me that what we leave behind us when we go is what truly defines us as men.”