Country courtesy, ain’t no bull

It is what I like to call a country courtesy. It is a gesture of goodwill recognized by farmers and rural dwellers across the South.

I’ve done it many times. I’ve done it in high heels. Did it once in a Sunday dress and stockings. I did it today.

The semi-truck in front of me barely missed the horse so since I knew to which house the horse belonged, I pulled into the driveway, got out in the pouring rain and went to tell the folks that the horse had escaped the pasture. I do this whenever I see a cow or horse out because I remember how much my daddy always appreciated it when someone stopped to tell us.

But, today, no one was home. So, I rounded the horse up, locked the gate and left a note for his owners. That’s another country courtesy: let them know so they’ll find the fence that is down.

A couple of years ago, a teenage driver plowed into my nephew’s pasture fence and then drove away. Cows scattered everywhere. Three dozen of them.

By the time someone got my nephew and brother-in-law on the phone and they arrived on the scene, an hour had passed. But when they arrived, they discovered five or six cars and trucks parked along the road. They were greeted by both neighbors and strangers who told them, “Don’t worry. We got ‘em all up for ya.”

“We’ll help you patch the fence, too, if you need it,” someone else offered.

The world could use a lot more of country courtesy. Don’t you think?

A few years ago, I was stopped on a rural road by a traffic jam caused by a big bull standing in the road. A stubborn bull, I might add, because he wasn’t budging. I got out of the car, in heels and skirt, as a guy said, “What do we do?”

I marched up to the house and knocked on the door but no one was home. While I was knocking, a motorcycle rider almost collided with the bull. I walked back to the gathering and declared, “I can put that bull up.”

The guys cast glances at my attire and then grinned or snickered. “You can’t put that bull up.”

Of course, that’s all it took. I showed them. Fifteen minutes later, I had the bull corralled and a note written to stick on the door. I explained to the owners that the bull had gotten out so I had put it in a side pasture. “You’ll probably want to check to see where you have a pasture fence down.” I signed my name.

The next day, I called the printer that I always use to ask about an order. I concluded the conversation and started to hang up when Debbie said, “Wait a minute. Kathy wants to talk to you.”

“About what?” I asked. From Debbie’s tone, I could tell that something was up.

“Well, let me ask you something.” She paused for a moment. “Did you put a bull up yesterday?”

“Yes, I did. How did you know?”

“Because it was hers and when she came in and told us that this morning, we said, ‘Ain’t no way that little prissy thing put a big ol’ bull back in the pasture.’ We didn’t believe it. Hang on. She wants to thank you.”

This story is true. I promise. There’s no bull to it.