Sample Pages: Vogel and the White Bull (page 3 of 3)
through the oaks, the pecans, the pines, and the cedars, searching for something new to eat. He watched his footing, stepping over cow patties. Every once and awhile he noted the dried droppings of his five horses, which he discerned had passed recently through this part of the woods. Soon he emerged from the woods and climbed up a steep bank. Standing at the top of the grassy knoll. Manfred surveyed the lake he had built thirty-five years ago. The north wind created small waves that danced and rippled across the surface. The waves bent and broke when they reached the remnants of a dead tree far out in the middle, its errant limb protruding from the lake’s surface. A black turtle with a yellow stripe on its leathery neck sunned itself at the tip, a few inches above the surface. He resumed his journey down the trail his cows and horses had carved out. Manfred heard a bass striking the water, reminding him that fishing remained his sole solace. Many times he started his day on the lake, floating aimlessly in a flat bottom boat, letting the calm surface of the lake refresh his spirit.
He reached the dead bull, lying in the center of the south pasture, and witnessed vultures, oblivious of his arrival, tearing ruthlessly at its now ugly flesh. The birds, now aware of him, struggled to get airborne but they were full, their bellies distended from feasting on his prize bull. They were too heavy to take flight and escape. He cocked the Remington., Manfred knew it was illegal to kill the birds, but he was angry at the wasteful slaughter of his bull. He fired the rifle and a bullet decapitated the nearest vulture. At the sound, the others panicked trying to reach the air.. He fired a second round and a vulture exploded into blood and feathers. Manfred could smell their stench as they scattered, searching for a draft of air to support themselves. One last vulture remained. When he shot it in the eye, its head disappeared, leaving a bloody stump.