The Faithful Bull 忠贞的公牛.docVIP

The Faithful Bull 忠贞的公牛 　　One time there was a bull and his name was not Ferdinand and he cared nothing for flowers. He loved to fight and he fought with all the other bulls of his own age， or any age， and he was a champion. 　　His horns2） were as solid as wood and they were as sharply pointed as the quill3） of a porcupine4）. They hurt him， at the base， when he fought and he did not care at all. His neck muscles lifted in a great lump that is called in Spanish the morillo5） and this morillo lifted like a hill when he was ready to fight. He was always ready to fight and his coat was black and shining and his eyes were clear. 　　Anything made him want to fight and he would fight with deadly seriousness exactly as some people eat or read or go to church. Each time he fought he fought to kill and the other bulls were not afraid of him because they came of6） good blood and were not afraid. But they had no wish to provoke7） him. Nor did they wish to fight him. 　　He was not a bully8） nor was he wicked， but he liked to fight as men might like to sing or to be the King or the President. He never thought at all. Fighting was his obligation and his duty and his joy. 　　He fought on the stony， high ground. He fought under the cork-oak9） trees and he fought in the good pasture by the river. He walked fifteen miles each day from the river to the high， stony ground and he would fight any bull that looked at him. Still he was never angry. 　　That is not really true， for he was angry inside himself. But he did not know why， because he could not think. He was very noble and he loved to fight. 　　So what happened to him？ The man who owned him， if anyone can own such an animal， knew what a great bull he was and still he was worried because this bull cost him so much money by fighting with other bulls. Each bull was worth over one thousand dollars and after they had fought the great bull they were worth less than two hundred dollars and sometimes less than that. 　　So the man， who was