Aiki-BULL-do
When I was a kid, I used to spend my summer vacations visiting my father who lived in Sulphur, Louisiana.
Now, the city of Sulphur used to be one of those small rural cities you could drive by and miss if you blinked. It was the type of place where everyone seemed to know everyone and most people were related to each other in some manner or other.
It was “good old boy” country, except most of these good old boys were Cajun. They spoke French, listened to Zydeco, and who proudly referred to themselves as “Coon-asses.” (Yes, the term “coon-ass” is historically derogatory, but they called themselves that with pride. Go figure!)
Sulphur was also one of those places where there was almost nothing to do. I mean, they didn’t even have a movie theatre, and unless you were on a little league baseball/softball team a kid could die of boredom. It was clearly a place that if you weren't interested in watching the daily soap operas on TV (must see TV for my relatives) you had to have the inventiveness to find alternative ways of entertaining yourself.
However, while visiting Sulphur could be frightfully dull, it was a place surrounded by wilderness, fishing holes, and small family farms with almost every variety of livestock imaginable. For a city boy like me, who loved animals and nature, Sulphur was paradise.
Or maybe I should say that it was because of the animals that I found Sulphur to be a so much fun. To be perfectly honest, as much as I like the “simple life,” if it weren’t for the animals and my father’s relatives (a very interesting lot), Sulphur would be more like Hell. If the heat and humidity don’t kill you, chances are the swarms of blood-sucking mosquitoes, poisonous snakes, alligators, garfish, torrential rain and lighting storms, or toxic sulfuric fumes from the refining plants will.
Of course as a kid, none of the heat and or other hazards seemed to matter, and I looked forward to my yearly trip. It was my chance to be the “farm boy,” to play with the animals, to go fishing, and to walk in the woods whenever I wanted to. It was a chance to experience country living, far away for the noise and congestion of the city. In addition, there was the added bonus that I could drive my fathers riding lawnmower each and every time the grass needed cutting, and the grass always needed cutting. For someone not old enough to legally drive that was a big plus.
Now before I get into heart of my story I should inform the reader that there is a big difference between raising animals for food, and raising animals as pets. Those individuals that raise animals for food view farm animals as commodities; while I never witnessed any animals being mistreated, these people know where the animals will eventually end up, so never really build an attachment to them.
I on the other hand, being from the city viewed all of these farm animals as “cute and cuddly” pets, or—should I dare say—as playmates. The realization that many of these animals would end up being someone’s dinner didn’t occur until many years later. I mean, how could anyone eat poor Fluffy?
Because I viewed all animals as “pets,” I rarely considered the potential hazards of interacting with them, or the possible injuries these animals could inflict. At the time, it didn’t even dawn on me that many of these animals had little or no exposure to humans, and if given the choice would avoid human contact all together. Needless to say, I often learned this lesson the hard way. And let me tell you, even a duck can cause severe injuries with the right provocation, even provocation with the duck’s best interest at heart.
Of course, interacting with various animal species does teach a person a lot, especially how animals think and react to specific stimulus and how to read body language correctly. These lessons were useful for understanding and dealing with the more unpredictable two legged animals in my career in law enforcement many years later.
More importantly, interacting with animals can also teach one a lot about life-protection skills. Skills such as: how to run very very quickly when threatened or outmatched; how to dodge/block oncoming attacks from beaks, claws, horns, and teeth; how to improve vertical jumping skills in order to clear high hurdles/fences; and how to develop the art of improvised defensive weaponry. I think I know at least 20 ways to use a feed-bucket in the art of “Barnyard-Jutsu.”
Of course, a lot of these lessons could have been avoided if I would have listened to the people who were raising the animals in the first place. Giving credit where credit is due, farmers know a lot about the animals they raise. While a lot of what they tell you seems far-fetched, normally their advice is worth taking. Their advice illustrated in advance the risks I took; I was clearly informed what could happen and how to avoid it. Of course if I had taken their advice my life, at least as far as my training in the martial arts, may have turned out very differently.
Now I don’t want to give the reader the wrong impression. My father didn’t have a farm, nor was he a farmer. However, he always had a variety of animals on his property.
Most of the time he kept rabbits and several types of chickens. But every now and then he would decide to raise something bigger, that he would eventually use to fill his deep freeze.
One particular summer, when I was about 14 years old, that larger animal turned out to be a male Holstein calf I named Peanut.
Now, for those of you not well versed in the various breeds of cattle, a Holstein is a fairly large breed. It is one of the most common breeds found in the US and Holstein’s are famous for their unique black and white patterns (no two Holsteins have the same pattern). Calves are often born weighing a hefty 90lbs or more, and by the time they are adults a bull can weigh over 2000 pounds, stand 58 inches tall, run at over 25 miles per hours, and have a vertical leaping ability of over 6 feet. Fortunately, they are fairly mild-mannered; but if provoked, threatened, or agitated they are a force to be reckoned with.
Now when I first met Peanut, he was about four months old. He still had the oversized ears, big brown eyes, and lanky awkward gate of a calf. But he was already at the point where he was maturing into a little bull—or should I say, a “big Bully.”
Peanut was definitely king of his pen. He made it clear to all intruders that their presence would only be tolerated for a certain period of time. That time was normally no more than what it took to feed him and change his water bucket.
Intruders out-staying their welcome were confronted with snorts, aggressive head swipes, and mock charges. If that wasn’t enough to make the intruder leave Peanut then went into head-butt mood. At that point, the intruder had a choice: either run or do your best impression of a Matador.
Now for those who have read some of my other postings, you may already be aware that I have somewhat of a stubborn streak. That was even truer when I was younger. Certainly, I was of the mindset that I wasn’t going to let some little bull boss me around or chase me out of his pen. The battle of wills was on.
Round one definitely went to Peanut. I learned that getting a full on head-butt to the back and legs is quite painful. I also leaned that bulls don’t stop once their target is down. No, Peanut wasn’t about to stop hitting me until I was out of territory. To say I got my butt kicked that day would be an understatement.
Of course it was also a learning lesson. I first learned that calves can move really quickly, and can turn on a dime at full speed. I also learned that they have the uncanny knack to move one part of their body in one direction while the other seems to go in a completely opposite direction. In other words, bulls can move in a really deceptive ways.
Well, after our first encounter, I made it a point to be in charge of feeding Peanut. Twice a day I would enter his pen, and twice a day he would go through his routine of posturing, mock charging, and ultimately attacking at me.
At first Peanut would win and I routinely had to run out of the pen. However, battered and bruised I vowed, “Tomorrow was another day.”
A few weeks later, as I caught on to Peanut’s tactics, our clashes became more dance-like. Peanut would charge and I would evade by turning or stepping out of the way at the very last instant. Ole’!
Within weeks I finally started applying the aikijujutsu skills I had been learning back home against Peanut. At first, my movement wasn’t efficient enough nor was my timing accurate to always get off line enough to avoid being hit. Initially, I was also unable to do follow up evasion movements that would counter Peanut's ability to turn or twist as he realized he missed me. I also had to watch out for his ability to kick with his hind legs—in almost any direction he wanted to—which at first caught me by surprise.
If I learned anything at this time it was that tension really can kill; the more tense I was the harder it was for me to react or flow with the impact. In addition, I discovered that thinking about what to do didn’t work. I had to let my instincts and natural survival skills direct my actions.
By the end of my second month of vacation, Peanut and I were “playing” more equally. He would get his shots in, but more often than not I was evading, blocking or blending with his movements. His attacks, however, became slower and more calculated. For anyone who thinks animals don’t learn, Peanut slowly discovered what I was up to and made adjustments.
These adjustments were a good thing though, since they forced me to make my own adjustments and develop the mindset not to react until I really processed what was happening. In other words, I learned a certain level of zanshin, calmness when confronted with a potential threat.
As I learned to relax, my reactions became quicker, and more precise. I started thinking less about what I should do and stared just doing things reactively as Peanut went about his various charges, twists and turns.
I would still be hit from time to time, but that happened less often, and even when it did the force was greatly reduced. I didn’t get knocked to the ground as often, and normally our sparring matches would end because Peanut would get bored and trot off to chase something else. He was, needless to say, a poor sport when he didn’t get his way.
As my summer vacation drew to an end Peanut became less interested in sparring with me. We had developed a certain understanding, and he was happier to show his superior physical prowess by head butting other objects (tires, big 55 gallon buckets, chickens, etc) in his enclosure and making sure I knew he had the ability to destroyed these items.
Of course being partially ignored lend to another lesson in the life-protection arts. NEVER TURN YOUR BACK on your enemy or any potential threat.
Now, I’m not sure how a 500-pound plus bull sneaks up on a person, but he managed to do just that. Out of nowhere Peanut charged at me full out. If I hadn’t rolled to my side he would definitely have gored me, which I’m sure was his intent.
Flustered, all the lessons I had learned went out the window. All I wanted to do was run, and run I did. Bull bearing down, I ran at full speed until I hit the electrified fence, which fortunately wasn’t on at full power. Ricocheting back towards my charging adversary, I did a back roll—basically rolling under Peanuts legs.
My actions must have startled poor Peanut because he went crashing into the fence also. Laying there on the ground all I saw was a bull tumbling back towards me.
Now I can’t say just what I did to avoid Peanut from landing on me, but just as he hit the ground I moved out of the way.
Now just imagine this picture, a bull and a boy lying on the ground looking at each other both knowing what the other was thinking. It was a look that said, “What the hell just happened here, and I hope no one saw that.” If Peanut had been a person I’m sure we would have shared a momentary laugh; but Peanut just got up, snorted, and walked off like nothing happened, or as if he had meant to do it.
I was a little more stunned, so it took me a while to get up and leave. In addition, by the time I came back to my senses, my father was already present. He was yelling about the damaged fence, and how it happened. I’m not sure at that moment what I was more scared of, my father or another sneak attack from Peanut.
This sneak attack marked one of our final battles, and a few days later I was on a plane returning to San Francisco.
Returning to my teacher’s house, I was exhilarated to tell him about how I had used my evasion techniques and blending skills to avoid Peanut's attacks. I also couldn’t wait to tell him how our summer long sparring match had given me new insights to relaxing when threatened. All aspects he had been trying to instill upon me during our daily practice.
I’m not sure just how my teacher reacted to my story, or felt about the fact that I had spent my summer bull fighting, but he did notice the changes in how I reacted to being attacked. I now flinched a lot less, reacted more instinctively, and focused less on the attacking object and more on my whole surroundings.
Whatever the pros and cons were in spending my summer sparring with Peanut, that period when I returned to San Francisco became the turning point of my training. It was the point when I went from just doing basics to learning the more in-depth elements of the martial art I now teach.
I owe that little bull a lot of thanks.
Now I would love to end this story saying that Peanut lived a long full life, but that was never his fate. While it’s true that I would have loved to believe the story my father contrived to spare my emotional ties to Peanut, I will never be able to forget the fact that my father’s deep freeze just happened to be bursting with beef when I went there the next year.
Sure there were other bulls in the area to spar with, and since Peanut’s time I’ve even had the chance to interact with some major Rodeo bulls that weighed in at over 1800 pounds. However, none of these other bulls had the same zest Peanut had when it came to attacking me.
These full size bulls might have hit harder and moved quicker, but they lacked the delightful smirk Peanut had when his attack was successful. They didn’t seem to revel in the pleasure of the battle. They didn’t seem to have the same tenacious personality that made them attack me daily or with the same intent.
No, battling these bulls, never felt the same. I stilled learned valuable lessons about how to move my body, blending, and relaxing when threatened, but it never felt the same as my summer with Peanut.
Now, the city of Sulphur used to be one of those small rural cities you could drive by and miss if you blinked. It was the type of place where everyone seemed to know everyone and most people were related to each other in some manner or other.
It was “good old boy” country, except most of these good old boys were Cajun. They spoke French, listened to Zydeco, and who proudly referred to themselves as “Coon-asses.” (Yes, the term “coon-ass” is historically derogatory, but they called themselves that with pride. Go figure!)
Sulphur was also one of those places where there was almost nothing to do. I mean, they didn’t even have a movie theatre, and unless you were on a little league baseball/softball team a kid could die of boredom. It was clearly a place that if you weren't interested in watching the daily soap operas on TV (must see TV for my relatives) you had to have the inventiveness to find alternative ways of entertaining yourself.
However, while visiting Sulphur could be frightfully dull, it was a place surrounded by wilderness, fishing holes, and small family farms with almost every variety of livestock imaginable. For a city boy like me, who loved animals and nature, Sulphur was paradise.
Or maybe I should say that it was because of the animals that I found Sulphur to be a so much fun. To be perfectly honest, as much as I like the “simple life,” if it weren’t for the animals and my father’s relatives (a very interesting lot), Sulphur would be more like Hell. If the heat and humidity don’t kill you, chances are the swarms of blood-sucking mosquitoes, poisonous snakes, alligators, garfish, torrential rain and lighting storms, or toxic sulfuric fumes from the refining plants will.
Of course as a kid, none of the heat and or other hazards seemed to matter, and I looked forward to my yearly trip. It was my chance to be the “farm boy,” to play with the animals, to go fishing, and to walk in the woods whenever I wanted to. It was a chance to experience country living, far away for the noise and congestion of the city. In addition, there was the added bonus that I could drive my fathers riding lawnmower each and every time the grass needed cutting, and the grass always needed cutting. For someone not old enough to legally drive that was a big plus.
Now before I get into heart of my story I should inform the reader that there is a big difference between raising animals for food, and raising animals as pets. Those individuals that raise animals for food view farm animals as commodities; while I never witnessed any animals being mistreated, these people know where the animals will eventually end up, so never really build an attachment to them.
I on the other hand, being from the city viewed all of these farm animals as “cute and cuddly” pets, or—should I dare say—as playmates. The realization that many of these animals would end up being someone’s dinner didn’t occur until many years later. I mean, how could anyone eat poor Fluffy?
Because I viewed all animals as “pets,” I rarely considered the potential hazards of interacting with them, or the possible injuries these animals could inflict. At the time, it didn’t even dawn on me that many of these animals had little or no exposure to humans, and if given the choice would avoid human contact all together. Needless to say, I often learned this lesson the hard way. And let me tell you, even a duck can cause severe injuries with the right provocation, even provocation with the duck’s best interest at heart.
Of course, interacting with various animal species does teach a person a lot, especially how animals think and react to specific stimulus and how to read body language correctly. These lessons were useful for understanding and dealing with the more unpredictable two legged animals in my career in law enforcement many years later.
More importantly, interacting with animals can also teach one a lot about life-protection skills. Skills such as: how to run very very quickly when threatened or outmatched; how to dodge/block oncoming attacks from beaks, claws, horns, and teeth; how to improve vertical jumping skills in order to clear high hurdles/fences; and how to develop the art of improvised defensive weaponry. I think I know at least 20 ways to use a feed-bucket in the art of “Barnyard-Jutsu.”
Of course, a lot of these lessons could have been avoided if I would have listened to the people who were raising the animals in the first place. Giving credit where credit is due, farmers know a lot about the animals they raise. While a lot of what they tell you seems far-fetched, normally their advice is worth taking. Their advice illustrated in advance the risks I took; I was clearly informed what could happen and how to avoid it. Of course if I had taken their advice my life, at least as far as my training in the martial arts, may have turned out very differently.
Now I don’t want to give the reader the wrong impression. My father didn’t have a farm, nor was he a farmer. However, he always had a variety of animals on his property.
Most of the time he kept rabbits and several types of chickens. But every now and then he would decide to raise something bigger, that he would eventually use to fill his deep freeze.
One particular summer, when I was about 14 years old, that larger animal turned out to be a male Holstein calf I named Peanut.
Now, for those of you not well versed in the various breeds of cattle, a Holstein is a fairly large breed. It is one of the most common breeds found in the US and Holstein’s are famous for their unique black and white patterns (no two Holsteins have the same pattern). Calves are often born weighing a hefty 90lbs or more, and by the time they are adults a bull can weigh over 2000 pounds, stand 58 inches tall, run at over 25 miles per hours, and have a vertical leaping ability of over 6 feet. Fortunately, they are fairly mild-mannered; but if provoked, threatened, or agitated they are a force to be reckoned with.
Now when I first met Peanut, he was about four months old. He still had the oversized ears, big brown eyes, and lanky awkward gate of a calf. But he was already at the point where he was maturing into a little bull—or should I say, a “big Bully.”
Peanut was definitely king of his pen. He made it clear to all intruders that their presence would only be tolerated for a certain period of time. That time was normally no more than what it took to feed him and change his water bucket.
Intruders out-staying their welcome were confronted with snorts, aggressive head swipes, and mock charges. If that wasn’t enough to make the intruder leave Peanut then went into head-butt mood. At that point, the intruder had a choice: either run or do your best impression of a Matador.
Now for those who have read some of my other postings, you may already be aware that I have somewhat of a stubborn streak. That was even truer when I was younger. Certainly, I was of the mindset that I wasn’t going to let some little bull boss me around or chase me out of his pen. The battle of wills was on.
Round one definitely went to Peanut. I learned that getting a full on head-butt to the back and legs is quite painful. I also leaned that bulls don’t stop once their target is down. No, Peanut wasn’t about to stop hitting me until I was out of territory. To say I got my butt kicked that day would be an understatement.
Of course it was also a learning lesson. I first learned that calves can move really quickly, and can turn on a dime at full speed. I also learned that they have the uncanny knack to move one part of their body in one direction while the other seems to go in a completely opposite direction. In other words, bulls can move in a really deceptive ways.
Well, after our first encounter, I made it a point to be in charge of feeding Peanut. Twice a day I would enter his pen, and twice a day he would go through his routine of posturing, mock charging, and ultimately attacking at me.
At first Peanut would win and I routinely had to run out of the pen. However, battered and bruised I vowed, “Tomorrow was another day.”
A few weeks later, as I caught on to Peanut’s tactics, our clashes became more dance-like. Peanut would charge and I would evade by turning or stepping out of the way at the very last instant. Ole’!
Within weeks I finally started applying the aikijujutsu skills I had been learning back home against Peanut. At first, my movement wasn’t efficient enough nor was my timing accurate to always get off line enough to avoid being hit. Initially, I was also unable to do follow up evasion movements that would counter Peanut's ability to turn or twist as he realized he missed me. I also had to watch out for his ability to kick with his hind legs—in almost any direction he wanted to—which at first caught me by surprise.
If I learned anything at this time it was that tension really can kill; the more tense I was the harder it was for me to react or flow with the impact. In addition, I discovered that thinking about what to do didn’t work. I had to let my instincts and natural survival skills direct my actions.
By the end of my second month of vacation, Peanut and I were “playing” more equally. He would get his shots in, but more often than not I was evading, blocking or blending with his movements. His attacks, however, became slower and more calculated. For anyone who thinks animals don’t learn, Peanut slowly discovered what I was up to and made adjustments.
These adjustments were a good thing though, since they forced me to make my own adjustments and develop the mindset not to react until I really processed what was happening. In other words, I learned a certain level of zanshin, calmness when confronted with a potential threat.
As I learned to relax, my reactions became quicker, and more precise. I started thinking less about what I should do and stared just doing things reactively as Peanut went about his various charges, twists and turns.
I would still be hit from time to time, but that happened less often, and even when it did the force was greatly reduced. I didn’t get knocked to the ground as often, and normally our sparring matches would end because Peanut would get bored and trot off to chase something else. He was, needless to say, a poor sport when he didn’t get his way.
As my summer vacation drew to an end Peanut became less interested in sparring with me. We had developed a certain understanding, and he was happier to show his superior physical prowess by head butting other objects (tires, big 55 gallon buckets, chickens, etc) in his enclosure and making sure I knew he had the ability to destroyed these items.
Of course being partially ignored lend to another lesson in the life-protection arts. NEVER TURN YOUR BACK on your enemy or any potential threat.
Now, I’m not sure how a 500-pound plus bull sneaks up on a person, but he managed to do just that. Out of nowhere Peanut charged at me full out. If I hadn’t rolled to my side he would definitely have gored me, which I’m sure was his intent.
Flustered, all the lessons I had learned went out the window. All I wanted to do was run, and run I did. Bull bearing down, I ran at full speed until I hit the electrified fence, which fortunately wasn’t on at full power. Ricocheting back towards my charging adversary, I did a back roll—basically rolling under Peanuts legs.
My actions must have startled poor Peanut because he went crashing into the fence also. Laying there on the ground all I saw was a bull tumbling back towards me.
Now I can’t say just what I did to avoid Peanut from landing on me, but just as he hit the ground I moved out of the way.
Now just imagine this picture, a bull and a boy lying on the ground looking at each other both knowing what the other was thinking. It was a look that said, “What the hell just happened here, and I hope no one saw that.” If Peanut had been a person I’m sure we would have shared a momentary laugh; but Peanut just got up, snorted, and walked off like nothing happened, or as if he had meant to do it.
I was a little more stunned, so it took me a while to get up and leave. In addition, by the time I came back to my senses, my father was already present. He was yelling about the damaged fence, and how it happened. I’m not sure at that moment what I was more scared of, my father or another sneak attack from Peanut.
This sneak attack marked one of our final battles, and a few days later I was on a plane returning to San Francisco.
Returning to my teacher’s house, I was exhilarated to tell him about how I had used my evasion techniques and blending skills to avoid Peanut's attacks. I also couldn’t wait to tell him how our summer long sparring match had given me new insights to relaxing when threatened. All aspects he had been trying to instill upon me during our daily practice.
I’m not sure just how my teacher reacted to my story, or felt about the fact that I had spent my summer bull fighting, but he did notice the changes in how I reacted to being attacked. I now flinched a lot less, reacted more instinctively, and focused less on the attacking object and more on my whole surroundings.
Whatever the pros and cons were in spending my summer sparring with Peanut, that period when I returned to San Francisco became the turning point of my training. It was the point when I went from just doing basics to learning the more in-depth elements of the martial art I now teach.
I owe that little bull a lot of thanks.
Now I would love to end this story saying that Peanut lived a long full life, but that was never his fate. While it’s true that I would have loved to believe the story my father contrived to spare my emotional ties to Peanut, I will never be able to forget the fact that my father’s deep freeze just happened to be bursting with beef when I went there the next year.
Sure there were other bulls in the area to spar with, and since Peanut’s time I’ve even had the chance to interact with some major Rodeo bulls that weighed in at over 1800 pounds. However, none of these other bulls had the same zest Peanut had when it came to attacking me.
These full size bulls might have hit harder and moved quicker, but they lacked the delightful smirk Peanut had when his attack was successful. They didn’t seem to revel in the pleasure of the battle. They didn’t seem to have the same tenacious personality that made them attack me daily or with the same intent.
No, battling these bulls, never felt the same. I stilled learned valuable lessons about how to move my body, blending, and relaxing when threatened, but it never felt the same as my summer with Peanut.
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