A Brush With Danger

I had a death-defying experience recently… heh.  As part of one our family’s portable building businesses, we occasionally have to repossess a building when someone doesn’t pay for it, or when they decide they don’t want it any more. We set out to locate one recently that had been delivered to an ill-defined spot on a desolate country road in the middle of nowhere. The “address” (and I use that term loosely) didn’t come up on the GPS, so I was a little nervous about finding it. (Read: “God Bless the GPS”.)

The only directions we had were that it was closer to one tiny town than another tiny town, on a road between the two, and there was a gate and a low water crossing leading to where the building had been delivered to an empty pasture. We came to a gate at the end of the road that seemed promising. There was a grove of trees off to one side blocking the view down the “road”. (Well, it was a dirt trail, really.)  To see if the building we were looking for was there, I skinnied through the fence and walked down the road, intending to round the curve in the path to see if I could spot it. I was encouraged when I walked over a low water crossing about fifty yards along. Then I cleared the trees and saw an old Oldsmobile, a rusty wheel-less tractor, some cows… and a big, red bull. (Not the energy drink, mind you.)

He did not look like this:
He looked like this:


I looked at him. He looked at me. We sized each other up. We came to a silent understanding that I would leave, and he would not kill me. I quickly – but not too quickly – backed away and he stared me down as I left the pasture.

Fortunately, we found the building up the road in a different pasture, with no Oldsmobile, no tractor, no cows, and no bull.

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