Chocolate sampler from "Chocolate for a Teen’s Heart"

Bully for Who?
by Sheila S. Hudson

As an only child growing up in suburban Atlanta in the late 1950’s and early 60’s, I loved visiting my cousin in northern Georgia. Linda lived on a farm and was my best friend, the sister I never had.

The summer Linda turned sixteen; I was still fifteen. She was allowed to date, but I (not having reached that magical age) would have to wait until December.

That seemed eons away, so we dreamed up a way to double date. After everyone was asleep, we’d sneak out of the house and meet two local boys Linda knew. Later, we’d sneak back in. Great plan!

We congratulated ourselves on our ingenuity. On the appointed night, we retired early, which should have been an immediate tip-off to Aunt Mary Nell. We were wearing good clothes under our nightgowns. We lay sweating on the iron poster beds until Mama Sewell and Aunt Mary Nell were sound asleep.

At her signal, I raised Linda’s bedroom window for her to climb through. She tore her new Capri’s and used a swear word. Fortunately, Aunt Mary Nell’s rhythmic snoring reassured us that all was still well.

We sneaked to the gate separating the property from an adjoining farm owned by our Uncle Roy and Aunt Margaret. Linda lifted the latch and stepped through.

Swatting at an insect circling my head, I let the gate slam against the fence post with a thunderous crash. Straining our eyes against the darkness, we were relieved not to see any house lights come on.

Just at that moment we heard a rumbling in the bushes. Someone or something brushed past us. Something very large with wiry hair and hot breath!

Then the awful truth hit. “Oh, no! Horatio is out!” gasped Linda. “We’ve got to put him back.”

We chased Uncle Roy’s prize bull in the moonlight. Linda yelled, “Catch his head! Hold him!” But there was no way that I -- a city girl -- was going to grab that bull’s head.

As we ran, we prayed. Uncle Roy would never forgive us if anything happened to Horatio -- he was the best bull in the county.

Finally realizing we’d never catch him, Linda suggested we call Aunt Margaret.

“She’ll help us corral him, and she won’t squeal either. Aunt Margaret’s a pal.”

“No,” I protested. “We can’t tell anyone. My dad will kill me if he gets wind of this. I’ll never be able to visit you again.” We exchanged breathless protests until finally we agreed for Linda to sneak back inside and telephone Aunt Margaret. Luckily, Aunt Margaret was still up and alone. When she arrived, she left her truck lights on pointing them in our general direction. Cautiously she approached Horatio.

Suddenly Horatio bolted and she grabbed his tail as he went by. Aunt Margaret isn’t a small woman, but that old bull dragged her around the yard like a rag doll. She was screaming at the top of her lungs, so all the house lights quickly came one.

We were in for it now! I figured my folks would come for me first thing in the morning. I might as well just start packing. Meanwhile, Aunt Margaret’s ride continued, through briars and bushes, across plowed fields and over the lawn. Her firm grip held.

Then, unexpectedly Uncle Roy showed up carrying a little silver whistle. He blew it. Amazingly Horatio stopped dead. He lowered a massive head and trotted up to Uncle Roy like a pet retriever.

After prying Aunt Margaret’s ten-finger death grip off Horatio’s tail, Uncle Roy led him back through the gate and into the barn. Meanwhile, we helped Aunt Margaret inside picking twigs and beggar lice off her clothes. While Mama Sewell got her a glass of water, we managed to deposit her in the recliner. Ob

viously, we never made it to our date rendezvous point. Incredibly, my parents never found out about this episode. The question of how Linda and I happened to be outside was never raised. Everyone assumed we’d heard Horatio rumbling around and tried to put him up ourselves. They never questioned that we were wearing our “good” clothes.

For days afterward, we giggled at how funny Aunt Margaret looked holding onto Horatio’s tail. We also marveled at Horatio’s obedience to Uncle Roy’s whistle. Forty years later, Linda and I laugh about our “double date” with Horatio T. Bull.