Kickass and the flying bull

Kickass, the doorstop dog, reports that the keeper’s long journalistic experience in listening to experts “at the end of the bar” has qualified him to give advice on how to ignore such utter bull and listen instead to those with actual qualifications to issue proclamations.

Once a long time ago, the keeper checked into Murphy’s Tavern in Westfield just after a tornado had cut a swath through Marquette county, and was informed by one of the regulars—Gus, that the tornado had picked up a scrub bull from a farm near Oxford and deposited the animal—largely unscathed in a pasture out by Lawrence Lake—some 20 miles away, where the bull bred a number of pure bred heifers to the great consternation of the farmer.

The keeper remembers buying Gus a beer, and later being informed by a sheriff’s deputy that the tornado had tipped over a few sheds and downed some trees, but there was no report of it having “flown” a bull anywhere.

However, the bull story spiced up a newspaper column for the keeper, and so in retrospect it had some value. There is no big point to be made here, other than to recognize that as human activity brings on a premature end to the planet, it probably makes more sense to listen to the “deputies” than to the Gus’s.

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