The large-for-his-age young bull, which had known only an existence of roaming whenever and wherever he wished on the chaparral-covered ranch land, was not the least bit happy about being rounded up by his owner and the ever obedient shepherds, and then being put into the back of a late model 40’s pickup edged with high sideboards.
To say he was a bit rambunctious was putting it mildly; furthermore, one would have thought he was in training for becoming a rodeo bull for what it felt like to the farmer and his kids riding up front in the cab. The thrashing and lurching was making such a ruckus that it was impossible to distract their minds from it as they tried to listen to the staticky radio with the sound turned as high as it could go. There was no time to casually hold onto the steering wheel, even momentarily, because one never knew when the next steer tantrum would happen.
Apparently the ride back to their farm wasn’t enough to get rid of all his bullish anger, because as soon as he was unloaded, he broke free and ran toward the first resemblance of what he knew best, some trees and thickets he saw near the edge of the property where he just dared them to come after him.
He put up a brave front by snorting and digging his hooves into the ground whenever anyone tried to approach him deep within nature’s camouflage, but he finally succumbed when he realized there was just no way out for him.
*This is a rewrite from Six Sentence Stories - Circle