Jocko

Every time I talk about my childhood pet I always get the strangest looks. Yes I understand, most young boys have a dog or cat, maybe a bird or possibly a rabbit, but how many do you know have ever had a pet bull? Well, I have, and his name was Jocko. He was born several months after my family moved into a small cottage located on a dairy farm in Horseheads, NY.

I’m sure having a pet bull sounds odd, but I can assure you it felt as natural as having any other pet, it was just much bigger. Bull children grow much faster than human kids and it didn’t take very long before Jocko towered over me. At first the adults thought it was cute to watch as the two of us wandered around the pasture. Sometimes I would bring a fishing pole down to the creek and try my luck. Jocko would spot me sitting on the creek bed and trot over to see if I were having any luck. I’m not sure how he felt about having a human friend, but I was sure glad to have him. There were no other kids living within close proximity, so Jocko became my best bud.

The thing about relationships is they can change in the blink of an eye and that is what happened between Jocko and I although I’m still not convinced it was totally his fault. It was late one summer night when the sizzle of an intense flash of lightning followed by the loudest crack of thunder woke me from a sound sleep. Never having experienced such an intense event in my five years of life I immediately sat straight up in bed and called out for my parents. Much to my dismay, no one came to my rescue.

Undeterred, I leapt from my bed and raced into my parents’ room only to find their empty bed. It was then that a second flash of lightning arced its way across the coal black sky, causing the barn to radiate with an eerie otherworldly glow. My terror was immediately replaced with the curiosity of a young child. Barns don’t glow, especially ones made of wooden planks and filled with cows and one young bull.

Jocko, what’s happening to my special friend? When you’re five years old, caution is quickly replaced by impulse. Without a second’s hesitation, I was running bare foot down the dirt road between the cottage and the glowing barn in my pajamas. I wasn’t sure what I was going to do when I reached the barn door, I just knew I had to save my best friend.

The heavy door was attached to old rusty metal wheels that squeaked and screeched as it travelled along a worn iron track. The adults on the farm were surprised that I was able to open it. It was a difficult job, but nothing was going to keep me out tonight, not even a heavy barn door. It took all my effort, but I managed to force the unwilling beast open just enough to slip between the door jamb and the wall. I was almost in, almost.

I could see inside the barn, illuminated by the creepy pale light, but my body remained wedged in place. I was stuck. How was I supposed to rescue my friend if I couldn’t free myself? Jocko slowly plodded from his stall to where I was twisting and wriggling and gave me a grunt before plodding back to his home. I remember calling out, “Some friend you are.”

Off in the distance I could hear my mother calling my name. Her voice became stronger until it was right next to me.

“Mark, what are you doing under your bed?

“I was trying to rescue Jocko from the Aliens, but I got stuck in the barn door.”

“Rescue Jocko, what are you talking about? We told you the farmer sent Jocko to the meat processing plant. That’s what happens to beef cows. We had some of him for supper earlier, remember?

I guess so. And there were no Aliens?”

“No Mark, there were no Aliens. That’s it for you, no more Twilight Zone. Now crawl back on top of your bed so we can all go back to sleep.”