Eleven Bulls Subdued told by Floyd Lewis Sr (1902-2000) written by Floyd Lewis Jr.

 I was about eight years old when I talked dad into taking me along on a bull hauling trip to Priest River, between Brookings and Gold Beach on the Oregon coast.

Floyd had purchased a total of eleven big bulls, including dairy breeds and a couple Hereford bulls, and had an order for them from Grants Pass Provision Company. Since he couldn't haul that many in his truck, he hired Bud Albright and his semi, which had a good stout oak rack on it. Floyd arranged for the bulls to be delivered to one central location near Priest River to meet the semi. Since these bulls had never been together, Floyd brought along a couple feed sacks full of rope. Each bull was roped around the horns and tied to the side racks, head to tail alternately to prevent bull fights. When he and Bud finished the job, the truck was pretty well loaded—not a lot of room for them to jump around. The bulls had quit struggling and were standing pretty quiet. We headed south on High way 101, and all went fine for about 30 minutes. Then one big Brown Swiss bull reefed back and broke his rope. He hooked his neighbor in the belly. In moments, the truck was a mass of fighting bulls as more ropes failed to hold them, and by the time Bud got the semi off the road they had torn one side rack off and bulls were raining out onto the highway and through fences onto the salt-grass flats. Floyd and Bud managed to get them all off the highway and into a pasture; then describing their predicament, got the  owner's consent to leave them there a few days while they rebuilt the rack. The repairs were finished with several added overhead bows and a couple very heavy horizontal pipes to tie to. It appeared bull-proof. Time to haul bulls. Once again, the bulls were tied alternately head to tail, with the biggest having a tow-rope on their horns, then we headed for Grants Pass. This time how ever, the bulls stood solid. No jostling. No fighting. We stopped at Cave Junction to grab a late lunch, and as we emerged from the cafe, there was quite a crowd of amused farmers and cowboys looking at the load of bulls. Only then did I realize the added restraint Floyd and Bob had applied. Every bull was secured by a horn rope on one end, and by the testicles on the other end. None of them wanted to move about! Tough medicine for big, rough bulls—but it worked.