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“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 over there.”
“What are they going to do when he gets there? Hold hooves and go bowling or something?” Trent asked, beginning to really crack up.
Great. Here we go, I thought. It was too early in the morning for cows and bulls, let alone the birds and the bees.
“Something like that, Trent,” I chimed in before Cody could explain things in more minute detail. “Look at the time. Last one back in the truck is a rotten Homer!”
CHAPTER 27
AS WE WERE BUMPING our way back to Aaron Cody’s farmhouse, towing the four-footed, twenty-five-hundred-pound bachelor of the month behind us, I noticed on my phone that I’d missed a couple of calls.
I blinked at the screen, not knowing what to think. I didn’t get many calls these days. Actually, I guess I had a bit of an idea. Both of the calls were from the same person, Emily Parker of the FBI.
