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out-push six men who, together, maybe weigh half that. “Perhaps,” suggested James, who had just moved from a big city and bought a nearby hobby farm, “he is just scared. Maybe, if someone would pet him and calm him down, we could get him in the truck.” Everyone stared at him like his rivets were coming loose. Rough and Ready Jackson, chewing on a twig of hay, said, “I’ll tell you what, James. You go ahead and climb in there and pet him, and the rest of us will go order your coffin.” Fred pulled up with his sheep dogs. Once he heard the problem, he knew just what to do. He ordered his sheep dog, Butch, into the chute to chase that bull into the truck. Butch looked at Fred like he wondered if Fred had all of his spark plugs firing, but finally went in, barking and growling. Butch came out, flying off the hoof of the irate bull, and when Fred ordered Butch to try again, Butch gave him a sideways look that said, “Why don’t you do it yourself, if you think it’s so fun.” That was when Rastus showed up. He was a cattleman, if ever there was one. He wore cowboy boots and a cowboy hat, carried a lasso around in the cab of his truck and a saddle in the back, and his whole demeanor bespoke a man in the know when it came to cattle. When he found out the problem, he drawled, “Why, shoot! You just ain’t givin’ that bull enough motivation ‘s all. I’ll get my motivator out of my truck.” He came walking back with a cattle prod, which most of us call a hot shot - basically a cattle taser. We all stepped aside as he gave that bull a few-hundred-volt shot of motivation. The bull let out a beller, but didn’t move. A couple more tries without success, and Rastus was beginning to fear he’d lose face, when he hit on an idea. He reached that motivator in and zapped that bull where no male of any species likes to be zapped. That bull let out a beller, like a freight train at a busy intersection, 21