all about horses and a bull too
I held an electrified dildo in a bull’s ass for ten minutes.
Oh, that would be a great first line for a novel but I don’t know how to follow up that caliber of writing for a whole novel. I can’t make up stuff that good and I haven’t lived a whole novel’s worth yet.
The bull was at the veterinarian office where I worked. It was my first real job. I was 15. I’ve been continuously employed since then (barring school) until I came to Seattle. Nobody wants to give me a job in Seattle. Maybe I haven’t stressed my qualifications. I’ll send this story along with my résumé from now on.
I call the vet job my first real job. My first actual job was picking strawberries in Oregon when I was 9. 25¢ per crate. It took a long time to fill up one of those crates. I think I’d only filled about seven of them when I quit. It wasn’t just the bad money. It was the water cooler too. It was a fucking liar and you couldn’t trust it so I quit my first job after three half-days.
My really first, first job was freelance contract work and that’s why I didn’t say it was my first job. It was catching snakes for the next door neighbor. She was terrified of snakes so she’d have me round up all the legless herpetological specimens endemic to her properties about once a week. I don’t know what she thought I did with them. She never asked me to kill them but I’m sure that’s what she expected. I got a nickel a snake. That was when candy bars were a dime still. God, those were the days. I’d take a big coffee can. Fill it up. Get my cash. Then dump the snakes unharmed in the field across the street. I was probably catching the same snakes about 25% of the time.
Back to the back of the bull. The vet was doing a fertility test on the bull. He needed a semen sample he could scrutinize. Getting a bull to ejaculate, if you’re not a cow, is a trick. I mean I guess there’s an obvious solution but I wouldn’t want to risk getting kicked in the head and saliva would mess up the accuracy of the test. We needed a different method. I’m glad. I was the assistant not the vet. The shit work all fell to me. I didn’t even get a glove. You bet the vet got a glove.
Someone somewhere sometime somehow discovered that if you put a metal rod in the ass of a bull and run electricity through it for ten minutes, the bull will ejaculate. The vet was holding the cup. I was holding the rod (it was a patented device that was mostly rubber with some flat metal runners on it; connected to a box with controls for current and such). The bull was holding his own, as it were.
The bull did not seem to enjoy it one bit. We had to lock him down in the stocks we used to hold cows and horses still. He bucked and jumped the whole time trying to get his ass out of there. I did a man’s job just keeping that thing inserted. What a strange place to insert that expression(?). Anyway, the bull finally put an end to my lousy job and its lousy time by ejaculating. The vet went in to scrutinize some bull semen while I cleaned up the equipment.
I was gonna write about horses. But they aren’t interesting at all after the bull semen story.
I just remembered I forgot to explain about the water cooler when I was picking strawberries. Somebody put a dead mole in there; which pretty well sums up what kids in the Pacific Northwest are like. I didn’t drink any of that mole water but I knew I could never trust that water cooler again. To this day I have to look inside a water cooler before I’ll drink out of it.