After his father died , Daddy told of his family moving in a battered old shack sitting in a open field occupied by a bull and herd of cows. It was really not much better than a barn, just unpainted planks with unfinished walls inside, tin roof visible above the open rafters. The cows offered little threat, but the Jersey bull raged when the cows were in heat. Mettie and the kids had to always had to keep a look out for him when they stepped outdoors to do laundry or fetch water from the well. Mettie kept the little girls close by in case they had to make a run for the house. She and the older boys made sure he was nowhere around before starting across the open field to the road.
One evening, the old bull was on a tear. Enraged, he had the family cornered in the house. A time or two, Mettie or one of the boys tried to go to the well for water and he ran them right back in, basing the door behind them as it slammed. He raged, ramming the shack time after time, bashing his head against the walls and doors, venting his hormone rage. Inside, expecting the bull to tear the door down any time, Mettie and the boys had gotten the younger children and themselves to the safety of the rafters where they waited out the madness and danger. The next day, they packed up and moved back to her Brother Albert’s farm, even though it was miles and miles from town.