By Tim Grant
Copyright 2012 by Tim Grant
Caleb Crowley felt his body getting slammed against the dirt, his left shoulder crumpling under the impact. He had just been thrown down ten feet violently, without remorse. His instincts taught him to turn his head to the right, in the direction of where he came from, to figure out what his assailant would do next. Just as he turned, snot from the eighteen-hundred pound monster washed over his face. One of the hooves on the bull's hind legs, coming down from a jump, whipped into Caleb's right calf muscle, tearing though the jeans. The pain was instant and burning in the rider's body. The beast’s front hooves just missed the cowboy's face.
“Hey, hey!,” Caleb could hear someone yelling just inches away, as he tried to guess if the beast would turn away, or go for another blow to his injured body. The bull fighter Cinch McPherson, shouted at the animal again, in an effort to distract the animal from the downed rider. It was the job of Cinch and the other two bull fighters to circle the fighting behemoths after a rider completes his bull ride , or is, 'bucked off.' The distraction worked, and the bull, named, “Sugar Daddy,” chased one of the other bull fighters back to the fenced-in pen, while still bucking his end quarters in the air, and side-to-side.