|
|
|
|
|
The annual running of the bulls in Pamplona, Spain seems to draw more scrutiny every year. This past July, the nine-day festival caught the attention of aspiring participants, cheering celebrants, animal rights activists, media from around the globe, and my husband, Mel.
"Says here that local hospitals received 56 people injured by chargin' bulls, which wuz one less'n last year," said Mel, rattling the newspaper and shaking his head. "Sixteen idgets got gored compared with only 'lebum in 2003. Says one of 'em was a 22-year-old fool from Looseyana. Ah always give 'em Cajuns credit fer bein' smarter'n 'at."
Mel went on to note that 14 deaths have been attributed to the bull runs since recordkeeping began in 1924. The celebration—which honors the city's patron saint, San Fermín—includes fireworks, parades, music, dances, bullfights, and religious ceremonies.
Six bulls selected from Spain's top breeding ranches run in the daily event, which begins at 8 a.m., spans a half mile, and lasts a mere three minutes.
The long-standing tradition among Pamplona residents was popularized internationally by Ernest Heming-way's 1926 novel, The Sun Also Rises.
"Git this. Thur wuz 200 animal rahts wackos showed up to run buck necked down through the streets to protest the runnin' of the bulls," Mel guffawed. "'At wudda been a spectacle shore nuff, but the pohleece called the buffs' bluff...denied 'em nudey protestors a permit. Whut Ah cain't figger out is why 'em activists thank it's cruel to run with th' bulls with thur clothes on, but it ain't with thur clothes off. From the looks of some 'at crowd, Ah'd say it cud be purdy dang painful..."
"You say they think it's cruel to run with bulls with their clothes on...when did they start putting clothes on the bulls?" I chirped.
Mel's eyes became little slits.
"You know whut I meant, smarty pants."
"Actually, I don't think it's the running they think is cruel. They don't approve of what happens once the bulls' journey ends in the ring with the matadors."
"Same bunch that' don't approve of rodeos an' what happens at the locker plant here," Mel observed.
"Same bunch," I said. "I read that Spanish officials finally compromised with the protestors, who agreed not to completely bare it all—although they didn't wear much more than fig leaves—and let them run along the bull path the night before. A lot of local gawkers complained that foreigners had no business trying to interfere with their traditional bull run. It's a custom they've observed for 400 years and they don't plan to end it."
"Good fer them. They sound a lot lahk Texuns. We don't cotton to outside innerferunce neither," Mel grunted.
I told Mel I was relieved that he felt no necessity to prove his manhood by running ahead of a ferocious herd of stampeding bulls.
"Ah spent a good part o' mah lahf a dodgin' an' chasin' after a bunch o' ornery bulls. As a result, quite a few of 'em lost thur manhood," he said.
