BULL AT THE GATE

I didn’t know it was a bull paddock until I was standing in it. The owner of the farm, Scott, dropped the fact casually, as if to say: “nothing to worry about”. But I wasn’t so sure. From what I’d seen, growing up as a city boy — little more than shaky footage of Pamplona’s running of the bulls and the disapproving brow on Chicago NBA jerseys — I figured bulls weren’t exactly the runner up