A Tale of Bull***t

This morning was house work time - indeed I teetered into the realms of spring-cleaning, and attacked the downstairs rooms with vigour. Vigour isn't the name of the product I used, I was trying to convey elbow-grease. Or exuberant cleansing.
C meanwhile started on one of the loft spaces under the eaves, where the builders put in lots of useful storage spaces. I'm delighted to say that amongst other things in there, he found a box full of items which for almost exactly 8 years I thought I had lost. More about that another day.
This afternoon we took advantage of the glorious sunshine, and parked in Alcester, then walked to a small nearby hamlet and around the lanes and fields surrounding that area.
These cows - and one bull - were standing on a heap of tipped soil. The beast on the right is a bull, and for most of the time we were watching the group, he was lying down motionless. So still in fact that we were looking for a phone number on the gate so that we could call the farmer and let him know that one of his animals was dead.
Then, very slowly, the tail of the "dead" beast lifted a fraction - and  - well let's say the animal was no longer motionless. In fact you could say that there was now plenty of motion, and he was lying in/on it.
After a couple of minutes more of total inactivity, the bull gently rose to his feet and stood alongside his very pretty harem and one young offspring. He turned to give us a withering gaze.
You couldn't say he was full of bull***t now, and he was most definitely not dead.