The novillos gone, one enclosure is empty.
Today's theme is as follows. We need to gather, then escort the yearlings (2 years old) to the corrals, sort the young bulls, organize a bullfight, and send the unselected animals back to their homes.
Indeed, a novillada (or a corrida) is prepared well in advance. The animals, selected by the mayoral (bullfighter) based on physical and pedigree criteria, are kept together so that, for example, they can be fed more than the others. They need to gain weight and become stronger. Furthermore, the time spent together will only reinforce the group's uniformity. Thus, it is hoped that they will appear on the day of the event more or less homogeneous.
So… Fire…
The cows, about fifty of them, roam freely in an enclosure of roughly one hundred hectares. At the sound of the tractor and my voice, they approach. I'm perched on the trailer, my feet dangling, a bag of alfalfa pellets beside me. Javi heads towards the corrals. The animals follow us, attracted by the occasional treat (alfalfa pellets) that I toss them regularly.
They follow us in a group, a bit boisterous, some fighting, others clearly more preoccupied with food… It's almost like a school trip. We've been training them for this for a few months and on this route for a week. It works perfectly; they all go through in two stages. We lead them back into the corrals, and finish the course by running to the chicken coops.
There are nearly 50 animals in 50 square meters; the dust blurs vision and makes breathing difficult. People shout and push; the young cows gradually return to the barns. The sun is scorching, throats are parched, and attention is waning. A final group of 6 to 10 animals stands in front of the barn's entrance, stops… and turns around.
We advance with our voices. Number 15 breaks away, charges me directly. In the dust, I don't see him start. I turn around and run towards the nearest burladero…
Mistake, same mistake for the second time in two months (the last time with the 6, a 7-year-old stallion)... this barrier is too narrow, poorly constructed, it leans towards the wall, and yet, I know it, I can't fit through... Punishment... Half my body is forced in like an oversized cork into a narrow neck... The right half of my body remains outside and stubbornly refuses to go through. He's there... with his horns and all his strength. He lowers his head and delivers one, two, ten, fifteen blows with his horns up and down. Three times he touches my thigh, and the last blow, aimed skyward, scrapes my chest... Six seconds of eternity.
The first second was one of terror. Then, the brain regained its composure and began a long, solitary conversation.
"But why are you the dumbest cowherd in the world?! You know you can't go behind that barrier, you had time to go to the other one... It was short, but you had time... Okay, now what to do? I push but it won't go in, and the other guy, who's giving me everything he knows... isn't getting tired... I'm going to have to kick him in the snout... Yes, but if I do, he'll remember where I am... so... ... " So he left... Alas... I touch my thigh. Nothing. The group goes into the stalls and Javi, laughing his head off, asks me, "Tell me! This heat in your pants... is it shit or blood?????" Fabrice, Javi, and I laugh, while Joe, who came to admire the work, remains petrified! So it wasn't meant to be today.
The rest goes smoothly.
I'm left with a strange feeling. For ten minutes, I feel immortal.
All my senses are heightened. I am in dazzling form.
Then a great weariness washes over me. I think of the luck I've just had and the danger of this profession. Finally, a strange thought comes to me. Like a feeling of incompleteness. The horn touched. But didn't penetrate the flesh. I couldn't say why, but it reminds me of those evenings when, having met a young woman, having seduced her, kissed her, caressed her, you go home without having consumed the fruits of your conquest…