Sunday will never be the same again.

What began as an ordinary Sunday morning soon took a reality television turn that I could not have foreseen in a million years. As I began the long journey from sound sleep to vague wakefulness, I realized something was going terribly wrong somewhere in the house. Mel was in the kitchen yelling, "Goddamn that bull. Damn it damn it damn it..." This followed by hasty shuffling of feet and sounds of digging through cabinets for...something. He had my full attention.

Leaping out of bed, I threw on my sweats (always kept close at hand for emergency bovine situations or that thousand foot tsunami) and ran into the kitchen. "What's wrong?"

"That damned bull is grazing our side of the fence again and busting up the fencing wire."

"Didn't Mark tell you to bop it on the head when you see him doing that?"

"Yeah, but it hurt my hand last time."

Glancing out the window, I got my first look at the recalcitrant ne'er do well and, now, second-time offender. This is not good, I thought. I threw on my sandals and walked outside while Mel kept digging around, again, for what? I have no idea.

The closer I got, I realized this bull was very cuddly looking. He had little tufts of curly hair and a cute white face...but he was a bull, so I maintained a respectful distance near a tree in case his hormones got the better of him and he charged.

Raising both arms over my head, I yelled, "Blah!" That startled him out of his erstwhile illicit graze long enough to size me up and vice versa. My, he was very big. At that moment, though cute, I realized precisely how large this cattle character was. Pretty darned big. I backed up a few more steps as soon as I noticed his tail twitching. If bulls are like cats, that is not a good sign and I did not particularly feel like being pounced on by the clearly nearly half-ton creature. "Blah!" I bleated weakly once again to no effect.

Without warning, out of the corner of my eye, I perceived a small, flying object...then another. Slowly I turned..step by step...ha...nah...I turned and saw...Mel...in his underwear...pitching something at the bull. A decent "Kerthwop" caught my attention. As I turned, I saw the bull shake its head and turn to walk away.

"What are you throwing?" I queried trying not laugh.

"Potatoes," the blunt reply.

"Excuse me, did you say, 'Potatoes/' "

"Potatoes. At least I know I still have my pitching arm. Damned bull anyway."

Satisfied his quarry was fleeing the jurisdiction, I he began stomping up the deck stairs. He must have stopped and turned at the noise because his potato throwing fiesta grande had drawn the attention of about eight cows who rushed in for the free victuals.

"Damn it...damn it..." was all I heard before Mel passed me again, still in his scivvies...with the pumpkin...from Halloween. Don't ask why it had not gone south, but it was still intact and still, well, crisp.

He tossed the pumpkin over the fence to divert the herd away from the fence. But the heave-ho had not broken it all open, only the bottom fell out. The cows decided it smelled like good eats, but could not figure out how to, well, get into it. SO they began kicking it around...like a big, orange soccer ball.

One little vixen decided that she was going to hog the pumpkin, however, and soon had chased all of her compadres away. She booted it around a few more times and tried to take a bite out of the flesh to no avail. Soon she lost interest and Mel and I went inside, BVDs and all.

I can honestly say I have never seen anything like that in my whole life...and probably never will again. Pity I did not have a camera on the ready. I would title the photo: "A Man, A Bull, and The Potato...You Decide."