Bulls Like to Tell Stories

My name is Billy and I like to write. It is hard for me to write though because I have hooves. I have hooves because I am Billy the bull. Even though I am discouraged by the fact my hooves make it nearly impossible to hold a pencil or type one key on a board at a time, I write. I live on a farm, and I can not do much for the farmer like the regular bulls because I am not big like they are. But I can tell stories and the farmer likes to hear them. The farmer says if bulls could write maybe I would even win a competition or two.

When Donald my friend the drake told me there was a writing competition, I was ecstatic. Donald told me there was a deadline and other challenges to. I am not very good at keeping track of time because I am a bull. I cannot do much on the farm other than keep watch of all the heifers. The heifers do require some undivided attention at times but they’re getting older and braver. They don’t need me as much anymore, so I am learning to do both these tasks.

Since I was a calf myself, I loved to talk and tell stories to any animal that’d listen. My farmer also understands me and I’m grateful for that. To write was an accomplishment on its own as I had a complication growing up, I required medical assistance the other calves didn’t. I didn’t learn to walk or call for my mother as quickly as they did because I stayed on the ground healing and getting better. I overcame the ground and the farmer showed me how to walk when I did not catch on naturally. The farmer had doctors implant a medical device inside of my chest cavity, so I’d live and grow up to be a big cow like the rest.

I stayed here on the farm where I was safe and I watched the other bulls get big, when they seemed like they were done growing, the farmer always carted them away from the farm.

When I started to talk to the farmer, I was given a pencil and paper immediately. The farmer truly believed if I could talk, I could also learn to write. I took the pencil with both hooves, and I traced every line the farmer ever wrote on paper. It was frustrating because the pencil would slip against my hooves and then fly away from me. I’d have to look for it in the hay and forget what I was writing when I got back to the paper. But I keep on because I love to tell stories.

That’s what brought me to the moment of deciding to write the perfect story for the challenge Donald told me about. I had the perfect amount of time to write a great story I even worried I had too much time. I was busied with the energetic heifers and yearlings. I pull a big cart behind me around the farm next to the farmer because sometimes they like to do things the old fashion way as they say to me. In this cart I carry everything, and I get distracted easily because there is so much to see and do on the farm. If I ever find myself bored, I can immediately busy myself with a task to do for the farmer. Sometimes though I take too much onto my plate to do for the farmer because I love them so much and then I neglect writing for the challenge.

As the final date approached to submit my story because I work a lot better under pressure, I went to write. Firstly, I could not even find my pencil to write with and I had to look around the farm for it. When I did this- I forgot I was looking for a pencil and I started to talk to the ducklings. I remembered I was looking for a pencil when they asked me what I was doing today, and I told them about the story challenge.

I carried on looking for the pencil to write with, but I got distracted again because the farmer was collecting berries from the orchard’s bushes. I’m great at holding the woven basket between my teeth for the farmer while they pick the berries. If I’m good they even feed me a strawberry or two.

When the basket was half full was when the farmer asked me how my day was going, and I explained while simultaneously remembering again I was looking for a pencil. The farmer chuckled at me and said if I was having a good day that was all that mattered. When the basket was full, I left the farmer and asked the Saint Bernard’s puppy if she’d help me find my missing pencil because I am not good at looking for it. The puppy was happy to help and found it under a pile of hay inside the barn where I sleep. I also write my stories in the barn where I sleep.

Frustrated because my bull-istic nature was catching up to me but hopeful I took the pencil in hand and thanked tiny Saint Bernard. I sat down and wiggled the pencil around in my hooves trying to balance it. The door to the barn slammed open and in strolled Donald asking me loudly how I was doing. I jumped because my brain brimmed with adrenaline and told him I was just about to write for the challenge he told me about.

Donald’s facial expression changed to one of perplexity and told me that the entry time for the challenge was cut off at dawn today. I disgruntled my own expression at Donald, I got mad at this new information because I had an idea. To plan another idea would take more mental investment I am still learning to hone. I stood from the ground where I was, and I stomped on the pencil with my hooves and broke it into pieces then tore the paper in half.

Donald looked at me again annoyed now and spoke

“Maybe if you weren’t so bullheaded under pressure you could still write a story because there is another writing challenge. If you didn’t procrastinate your work by day-dreaming all the time about raising livestock you wouldn’t create this pressure you put yourself under, to write. Then your pencil and paper would still be intact” Donald slammed the bedroom door on his way out of my room The door slammed so hard it rattled the pile of books-I told myself I’d read someday-next to it.

Yep, my human hands were still clenched in their useless fists in my lap even after Donald yelled at me because he is right.

I love to write stories, but I get distracted way too easily.

THE END