Bruach Blend by Lillian Beckwith Read Free Book Online Page B

rhythmically in to the pail. Bonny turned her head towards the spot where she had left Crumley and paused in her cudding to send him a gently loving low.
    â€˜All right, old girl,’ I comforted her. ‘We’re nearly finished now so you’ll be able to go back to him in a wee while.’
    The next moment fear bounced against my stomach like a squash ball as the bull appeared in front of me and I crouched petrified as he moved a pace or two closer. ‘It’s all right,’ I told myself desperately. ‘It’s Bonny he’s after, not you,’ but even had I tried to move his proximity had the effect of pinioning my feet to the ground and, as my chest grew tighter, I started to wonder how long my knees would take to unlock sufficiently for flight. I wondered if Crumley showed signs of attacking would Bonny protect me; wondered about the possibility of diving under her belly and making a swift run for the fence. The bull moved closer; trapping me between himself and Bonny, and my terrified gaze fixed itself on his red-rimmed eyes and on the span of his powerful horns, which at their base where they emerged from the fringe of shaggy hair between his ears were as thick as my forearm and yet which at their extremities were tapered to points as thin as the tip of my little finger. As he thrust his great head forward and his thick pink tongue came out and curled over his snout, I felt as if fear would kill me even if the bull didn’t. He began to sniff at my coat. Enlightenment shot through my fear. The bull wanted a potach! Having seen or smelled the piece of potach I had given Bonny, he had now come for his share and since he had come as close as he was now without showing a trace of animosity surely he could intend no harm? Apprehension disintegrated and I was almost light-headed with relief as still shaking I took the remaining potach from my pocket and broke off another piece. Not daring to risk what he might interpret as the hostile action of throwing it towards him I held it out on the palm of my hand just as I had done for Bonny. He hesitated for a moment, blowing quick suspicious breaths over the potach, before his tongue came out to take it with almost kitten-like gentleness. It was incredible! Here I was actually hand-feeding a bull when only a minute before I had been so stricken with terror I felt unable to move. Slowly I rose and stood with my hand resting on Bonny’s back, completely unafraid now as I watched him savouring his potach. It was good to have rid myself of my fear of bulls, I gloated, and thought how much pleasanter summer milking and nutting expeditions and evening wanderings would be now that I should no longer have to make surreptitious detours so as to avoid meeting the bull. Never again, I told myself, and felt so brave I wondered if I dared reach forward and tickle the bull between his horns. And then Bonny ruined everything! Her love for Crumley, it seemed, did not extend to sharing her potach with him. She was jealous and turning on him she clouted him with her horns before pushing him aside so as to get at the potach in my pocket. But Crumley also knew the potach was there and he lumbered back preparing to do battle for it. I was caught between the two of them and the situation was dangerous, for while their show of sparring was not to be taken seriously I could easily be knocked over and trampled on in the ensuing struggle. First rescuing the milk pail, I sidled round Bonny and made quickly and calmly for the fence. Immediately they broke off their sparring to follow me and as Crumley snorted irritably behind me the chill of fear played up and down my spine like a jet of icy cold water and I could not prevent myself from breaking into a run. Reaching the fence I scrambled heedlessly through the barbed wire and from the safety of the other side began to rage at Bonny.
    â€˜You stupid, rotten cow!’ I yelled. ‘You can just do without the rest of