Prissy and The Bull

“Prissy? C’mon!”

The Blue Heeler appeared with a toothy grin on her little face. She seemed uncertain whether or not she was being invited to come along.

“This is your big moment,” I said. “Let’s go!”

Together we raced back down the hill from the house towards the hay meadow. The burning sun continued its western journey. I knew that before long, it would set and, if we didn’t have the bull out of the pasture when dark came, it would be a much more serious problem.

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