Gone (Michael Bennett)

Sounded organic, and not exactly in the Whole Foods kind of way. Where was that guy from Dirty Jobs when you needed him?
    “Involving?” my skeptical son, Brian, asked.
    “Touchdown,” Cody said solemnly.
    “Touchdown?” Trent said, suddenly wide-eyed. “Oh, no. That’s bad.”
    “Bad? What do you mean? What’s touchdown? ” I said.
    “He’s the bull, Dad,” Trent said. “That big boy I showed you the other day. You know, the orn-ry big boy.”
    “That’s right,” Cody said. “Like it or not, Touchdown needs to go on a road trip today, and I was hoping you could help me get him out of the bull pen and into his trailer.”
    After we helped Cody hitch a trailer to his pickup, the boys piled into the truck bed, and we drove over to the bull pen.
    Cody backed the trailer opposite the gate of the bull pen and got out and dropped the trailer’s ramp.
    “Trent?” the farmer said to my son as he removed a stafflike metal pole from the truck bed.
    “Yes, Mr. Cody?” Trent said.
    “I see that Touchdown is way over there on the other side of the field, grazing. Why don’t you hop on over that fence and see if you can’t get his attention.”
    “Really? Oh, wow!” Trent said. “Can I really? Dad, is that OK?”
    “I guess,” I said. “But you better be ready to do some quick climbing back when he sees you.”
    “This is going to be good,” Eddie said, hopping up onto the fence as Trent lowered himself into the pen.
    “Hey, Touchdown!” Trent called as he did some jumping jacks.
    The truly massive black Angus bull kept on grazing until Cody made a yodeling call. At the sound, Touchdown suddenly stopped chewing and popped his head up and over in our direction like a dog being called by its master.
    It was obvious Cody hadn’t needed Trent’s help but just wanted to get my seven-year-old involved. I smiled. The more time I spent with Cody, the more I liked the old farmer.
    “Ah, you don’t scare me,” Trent said, waving at the bull some more. “I’m over here, dummy! Nanny, nanny!”
    Trent hadn’t gotten the third nanny out when Cody yodeled again, and the bull turned and started to approach. We laughed as Trent shot up the fence. A squirrel couldn’t have done it quicker.
    As Touchdown drew up, I suddenly understood why spectators screamed so loudly at bullfights. They were terrified. It was truly monstrous, a ton or more of pure muscle snorting viciously as it trotted toward us.
    I instinctively stepped back from the fence while Cody stepped forward. He shot a hand out over the railing and grabbed the huge, door-knocker-sized ring drooping from the beast’s nose. Then he attached the ring to a clip on the end of the metal pole he was holding.
    I thought the thing would go nuts and rip Cody’s arm off, but instead it just grunted a few times and placidly looked at the farmer.
    “Good morning, sunshine,” Cody said calmly to the bull as we all stood there in shock. “Mike, could you get the pen gate open so I can lead Mr. Touchdown into his trailer?”
    I ran over and followed instructions. Pulling on the pole like it was a leash, Cody walked the bull along the fence and out the gate. The bull paused for a moment on the trailer’s ramp, but then Cody let out with a cowboy “Yeehaw!” and the bull moved his massive bulk the last few feet into the creaking metal trailer like he’d been booted. The septuagenarian slammed the trailer gate closed and ran the bolt. Only then did he unclip the pole and pull it out through the slats in the trailer.
    “OK, everybody,” he said. “Count all your fingers and toes. All there?”
    We nodded.
    “Excellent job, then. Well done, boys. Trailering a dairy breeding bull is about the most dangerous thing done on a cattle farm. Thanks for the backup.”
    “How’d I do, Mr. Cody?” Trent asked.
    A wide smile creased Cody’s weather-beaten face as he put his big hand on Trent’s head.
    “You did fine, son,” he said. “Just fine. We just might make some good country stock out of you city boys yet.”
    “Mr. Cody, where is Touchdown headed, anyway?” Trent wanted to know.
    Cody looked at me. After a second, he took off his hat and scratched at his bald head.
    “Well, he’s got a … well, a date, I guess you’d call it.”
    “A date?” Eddie said, giggling. “Touchdown has a girlfriend?”
    “He sure does,” Cody said, nodding. “Why, just two farms over, the prettiest little cow you ever saw is right now waiting for him to get