A real bull in Wilbarger County Texas

Pure Bull!

Copyright by Terry Turner

A brief account of a bull I met while in Wilbarger County, Texas.

Yes sir! There's something to admire in purity and, as far as I know, there's a bull, a real bull; a natural, pure bull over in Wilbarger County.

Sure, there are bulls in Jack County and most counties. In fact there is more bull than not in most counties. But this bull, belonging to George Ancell, is an exceptional bull. We all know that a quality bull is hard to come by but, if you have one, his services will be in demand by other ranchers. That's a fact. But friends, have you ever seen a bull that had such a powerful air about him that heifers and cows would tear down a fence to get to him?

I have recently been out in neighboring counties trying to pick up an oil lease or two and, while on the Ancell spread in southeast Wilbarger County, I saw this magnificent bull. Believe it or not, heifers were tearing down a fence to get to that grand old Brahma bull.

The Ancell bull was standing up a knoll, kind of taking the morning sun and sort of minding his own business; he was probably thinking about pork belly prices, the weather, and such. I was thinking about
how to strike a deal when I noticed the heifers on the neighboring spread begin to crowd up along the fence line and they just took to admiring that huge giant of a bull and, now and then, one of them ì
would let out a pretty flirtatious bellow. Well, folks, the first thing I knew, those heifers were tearing that fence plumb down.

Now they weren't violent. They just wallowed that fence down so they could get a mite closer to that Ancell bull. And he, being neighborly and having been given an engraved invitation, so to speak, he just naturally had to go over and demonstrate his social powers which, as I saw were considerable.

Now, as luck would have it, the neighboring rancher who owned these amorous heifers came along and he was plumb upset.

Of course, as the rancher came to the party late, he accused the bull of breaking down the fence and generally sweated up his Stetson. Well, I told him that no such happened and that those cows just took down the fence to get at that Ancell bull.

Then that gentleman questioned my honesty and implied that my powers of observation were deficient. Further, he said that he had built the fence himself and that it was a good fence.

"Well," I said, sort of smart-alecky, " George Ancell had learnt to build fences that were "caballo alto, toro fuerte, and serpente seguro."

And he said, kind of insulting like, "What the hell does that mean?"

And I said, "Well that's how George's Grandfather taught his boys to build a fence and, anyone ought to know, it means "horse high, bull strong, and snake proof" which is the way the Ancell bunch have built their fences for more than a hundred years."

Then, kind of loud like, he shouted, "You can't build no snake proof fences!"

And I said, real quiet like, "I never said I could. I said that was how the Ancell boys built fences."

Hot like, he says, "Nobody can build a snake proof fence!"

There not being any rattlers real close, I said, "Well do you see any snakes around here?"

And he says to me, "What has that got to do with this damn bull mounting my heifers and tearing down my fence."

"Well," I reminded him, kind of soft like, "What I said was that the heifers tore the fence down"

He says, "Do you expect me to believe that?"

So I said, "Do you see any of the fences down on the other parts of this ranch?" And then I said," Mister, I don't know your name, but I have driven all over this place and I have five tires ruined and my own hide full of thorns to prove it and I know the fences are up in all other directions and, further more, as you claim to have built this fence which is not strong enough to keep heifers in, you ought to check with George Ancell on how to build a fence. George knows how it is done."

"Well," he says to me, "You are an insulting cuss if I ever saw one."

And I says back to him, "Well, I never meant to insult you or your ugly heifers for I am a stranger around here and, aside from owning one percent of the sperm that the bull has seen fit to share with your heifers, I have no interest in the matter except to help arrange for you to pay for the noble and registered sperm which you have taken from this ranch without a proper handshake."

I had no ownership in the bull at all but, as I was trying to do business with George, I thought I ought to try to protect his interests and why should a bull do all that work for nothing?

Then he says to me, "I ought to correct your attitude with a cattle prod."

Then, with the beads of sweat fairly popping out of his hat band, he says "Nothing but that elephant of a bull could have knocked down that fence."

And I said, "Well, it's a funny thing to me that I have seen nearly thirty miles of Ancell fences standing up to the bull on one side and herds of cows on the other and none of them are knocked down. So, it seems to me, the problem has got to be with the quality of your fence and the fact that your heifers are not properly serviced on your own ranch; any damn fool can see that."

Well about then he reached behind the seat of his fancy pickup and swung a double barrel shot gun out and laid it across his lap.

About that time a big old blue racer, about seven feet long, came snaking across the broken down fence onto the Ancell ranch and I says, "Now look what you have done! George will have snakes all over his place if you don't get that fence back up."

And he says to me, "Mister, in order that I can ship your body to the proper place, just tell me where you are from and what name do the misfortunates who know you call you?"

Well, from the glint in his eye, I thought that I had gone too far but, not being entirely stupid, I says to him, kind of straightforward like, " Why I am from over to Zacaweista and some folks call me Bucky."

Then quick like he says, "You ain't Bucky"

And quick like I says, "As you have never had the honor of meeting me, how do you know that I am not Bucky?"

He looked at me for a minute and he stepped down and started trying to get the heifers back on his side of the fence and he says quiet like, "Mister, I do not believe you are Bucky, for he is a well knowed gentleman in these parts and a scholar of sorts; and I believe you are neither."

Well, seeing as he was in a bad temper, I left while he attempted to convince his heifers to depart from the company of the bull.

Since then I have received four legal cease and desist orders from some legal outfit representing Bucky of Zacaweista; and a friend told me that George had brother by the name of Tom and that George had offered Tom a thousand dollars if he could find my body at the bottom of a well; and I have made up my mind to try to avoid dealing with people from Wilbarger County for they are nearly as peculiar and troublesome as the folks in my own county.

You folks know, of course, that my real name is Terry Don Turner; and this whole matter is a fiction. It sort of happened when my friends, Howard Bennett and Richard Ford Thompson, and I were drilling an oil well with George Ancell on his historic ranch in Wilbarger County. Don Elliott could have helped us lose a deal of money on the same occasion. but he declined as we had no mustard sandwiches to sweeten the deal for him.

A dry hole in Texas, especially a deep one, will drive you to do, say, and write peculiar things.

Since then, George has had four offers to build twelve thousand miles of ranch fences "caballo alto, toro fuerte, and serpente seguro."

2006. P.S. Obviously some of you kids are too young too know spit about history or Texas. The Ancell ranch adjoined Zacaweista which was the operational headquarters of the W T Waggoner Ranch. The Ancells and the Waggoners used to take turns moving fifty miles of fence line a night in order to take advantage of more grass. They spent a lot of time shooting at each other. I have been in the cellar where old man Ancell, George’s grandfather, holed up while the Waggoner’s were pumping enough 30-30 Winchester lead into the premises to make the whole area sink two feet. These guys, boys and girls, were men; PC had not been invented. And liberalism had not dawned in their day (or mine).

With the advent of genetic engineering few things are real any more, not even beef. Beef tastes more like cardboard than steak these days. I guess it can lay around the refrigerated section without spoiling, maybe for a month or two, but neither time nor red dye will make it a steak. I don't care how many excitotoxins you inject in that mystery meat it will never be the t-bone or sirloin of yore.

2009, P.S. Some of with those memories are nearing the end of our string, and one of these days, folks, one of these days even those who remember will be a memory and the final gates will close on those memories and the fading process will begin as our world passes away.
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