Racing across what they imagine to be wide-open county, nobody much likes a barbed-wire fence. But I'm pretty fond of fences -- especially when they keep the bull out. Now you may be wondering what I'm referring to, and I'm glad you asked. I grew up in Iowa with a dairy pasture in my backyard and before I knew any better -- let's say seven or eight years old -- I was out in it. On my grandpa's farm in Minnesota the cows always looked wide-eyed -- more afraid of you than you were of them. In fact, it didn't seem to matter how small you were, they still cowered when you came near. They were even afraid of the kittens that prowled the barn at milking time. I never met anything but a timid, superstitious cow on my grandpa's farm.

 

Now, I'm told, there's a world of difference between beef cattle and dairy cattle. My grandpa's cows were mostly brown and white Herefords -- beef cattle. They definitely don't look the same as dairy cattle and the black and white Holsteins in my back yard seemed to have an attitude. But nobody bothered to tell me this difference until after I ventured into the backyard pasture with my best friend. We were there to test our courage -- to walk among the cows and act like men -- to see who was a ‘fraidy cat’ and who we could call "sissy."

 

Now I told you that I didn't know enough about cows and maybe that was my daddy's fault and maybe not. But, either way, there was one small detail about cattle in general that I had failed to grasp. When my friend dared me to touch the gold ring in the nose of the biggest cow, I wasn't about to be the first one to refuse a dare. So as I moved in toward that big old cow, it lowered its head for me, and the closer I got the more it pawed its hoof on the ground encouraging me to come on. But when it started chasing me, I knew I was in big trouble.

 

I zigged and zagged across that field as fast as my short seven-year-old legs would carry me and just as it seemed my end was near, a mad, desperate idea gripped my mind. If I could just make it over that barbed wire fence I'd be safe. But I couldn't slow down -- and at such speed I'd have to jump higher than felt comfortable. Though my legs were dog tired, danger has a way of inspiring a little extra effort and in another couple steps I cleared that fence like an Olympic hurdler. Safe on the other side except for one small blood-soaked tear on the inside of my left thigh -- where my trailing leg had caught the barbed wire and torn my blue jeans -- I fell to the ground and looked back at that big old cow. Well, as you can imagine, I was glad to be safe on the other side, with a barbed wire fence between me and what I soon learned had been a Holstein bull.

 

 

Now you may think this is just a tall tale told to make a point but I'll wear the scar for the rest of my life. I'm as tired of tall tales as the next man and I've been told a few in my day and wherever the fences were down someone got hurt. A tall tale is like a bull about which you don't know the whole truth. If you get caught on the wrong side of the fence, you're in trouble. Well I learned something about bulls a long time ago. Don't let the gold ring fool you. Whatever makes the lie pretty also makes it dangerous.

 

Now there are just enough fools in this world to tempt fate anyway. But having survived the bull more than once, I wouldn't wish the experience on anyone. So, whether you like it or not, I'm going to build some fences. The fences I build are strung with words and they warn people of danger. They may have a few barbs on them. But if you get stung only once maybe you'll remember it the rest of your life like I did. And if you don't like what I have to say, maybe, at least, you'll think twice about touching the gold ring in the bull's nose.

 

My point is this -- sometimes people don't know any better because no one ever built a fence to warn them. Sometimes people don't know any better because no one told them the difference between the docile cow that gives milk and the bull that makes trouble. But either way, after someone warns you about the bull, you'll think twice about crossing the barbed-wire fence. To me, truths are like barbed-wire fences. They may be dangerous to fools racing through a world they imagine has no restraints. But we'd be in far more danger if they weren't there at all.