Thousands of Barbed Wire Fences
There was a strict protocol for crossing the thousands of barbed-wire fences that delineated boundaries of the local private land to prevent damage to them. On a particular day, I felt quite clueless of my position on Earth. I crossed a fence and wandered out in a nice grassy field. I moved some 50 meters into the field and took a knee for another fruitless gander at my map. I thought I felt a vibration in the ground below me. I was certain I felt vibrations under me.
I looked up to see a bull, in full gallop, bearing down on me. I was in his field, and I had a bright orange panel (VF-17) spread out on the back of my rucksack.
I thought my ass was dragging in the dirt and that I couldn’t go any farther, but I was wrong! I stood and turned, sprinting back toward the wire. When I thought I was close enough to the fence, I launched my rifle over it and dove over the top strand of wire. I came down hard on my side and just laid there. I looked up at the bull snorting at the fence, mucus oozing from his nostrils. I looked over at my rifle and decided it was much too far away for me to get up and go get it. I did so nonetheless, eventually.