Susan, Kevin, and I stood at the entrance. She had volunteered us for this task. I remember watching as other volunteers started gathering wood on the other side of the fence where there weren’t bulls.
But Susan didn’t hesitate. She said something like, “Oh, they don’t bite – c’mon there’s a lot to clean up.” And then she walked straight into the pasture, ignoring the giant animal that stood watching her. I began by skirting the edges and picking up branches that were close to the fence, never taking my eyes off of the bull. I stayed on the edges mostly, venturing in the direction of the bull (who stayed always near the center of the pasture) only a little.
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