When blood first began to gush from the bull's mouth, she just sat and stared as if we spending a long afternoon watching waves crash onto a desolate beach. She seemed to be thinking of something unrelated, far away. She didn't make the slightest sound. She didn't wince. But when the animal lost its footing in the dirt, the tears began. The bull slid to the ground, its legs giving out like toothpicks, the blood spraying up from its black velvet hide.