literature

The Granny Saga Part Two: Granny and the Bull

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Now if you’ve paid attention to part one you learned a few things about my grandmother. Mostly you learned she didn’t care what she said. If she thought it she said it, plain and simple. Now that we’ve recapped on her big mouth let’s start on lesson two.

They say patience is a virtue and if this is true my grandmother was not a very virtuous person. Her lack of patience rivaled that of a toddler. When she wanted something she wanted it done then, not later, not next week, but right then.

This attitude toward getting things done probably came from her growing up when and where she did. She was raised in the county and the food they ate came from the family garden. They also raised chickens, cows, and pigs for meat. So, in her defense, there was never a time for things to wait. When the garden had to be hoed then it had to be hoed then before the weeds overtook the vegetables.

Although now it’s 1985 Granny still has a garden. I don’t mean a little patch where she has three or four plants; I mean a half acre lot. And at 73 years old she still got out and worked in the garden every day.  She loved her garden. She had a variety of plants and the ones she didn’t eat she canned them for the winter.

Granny lived on a long dirt road. There were only three houses on the road; hers, ours and my uncle’s. Across the road was a large pasture filled with cows. The owner of the land lived about ten minutes away from Granny’s house. He was a nice older gentleman in his 50’s. He kept one bull in his pasture for breeding purposes.

Well, if you have ever had cows you know that eventually one will find a way out. It’s just one of those things that happen and this time was no different. The man’s bull got out and went straight for the garden; lots of good things to eat in there for a bull. This, of course, set Granny out in a rage of fury. She cussed the bull, like it could understand what she was saying. She had a mouth on her like a sailor. When the bull refused to move she ran to the phone.

“Johnson, you’re god damn bull’s my garden. You better come get that sombitch before I shoot’em.”   (sombitch: southern pronunciation of “son of a bitch”)

“Yes, ma’am, I’ll rush right over and get him. Take me about ten minutes,” he told her.

“Well you better,” she yelled and hung up the phone.

As you can probably guess this is where the lack of patience comes in. Granny waited all of two minutes before taking action. She took her 20-gauge shotgun from behind and door and headed for the garden.

She pulled the shotgun into her shoulder and took aim. Then my 73 year old grandmother pulled the trigger. She didn’t even hesitate. The bull never flinched. A shotgun, meant for killing birds and squirrels, didn’t have the desired effect on the bull. However, because of the location of the wound the bull would no longer be able to do his duty, if you know what I mean.

Mr. Johnson was there a few minutes later and from what I heard he had to retire the bull. From that day forward he kept up his fence a little better.

The End
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