That was what rodeo clowns, who shooed bulls away from fallen riders, called themselves. He was 23. Most of the year he drove from rodeo to rodeo with his striped barrel in the back of his car. He spoke of his lucky sock. He spoke of the ballet of the bullfight.
Bulls are gentle souls.
They're just playing but their idea of play is rougher than ours. I could cook in it too. Barrel burgers for everybody. It was wonderful to wander around Ketchum in the afternoons. Sometimes I bicycled to the Hemingway Memorial.