In a message dated 10/04/00 7:30:02 AM Central Daylight Time, clarimer@prodigy.net writes: << At the age of 10, I was sent out to the beating. Now, I don't suppose you know what the beating is. But, the wealthy people, they had the shooting of the grouse and they would be in the butts. And, they used to collect all the boys and unemployed folks who used to drive the grouse in a semicircle right onto the butts where the men with the guns hid - maybe a mile or a half a mile, whatever the drive would be more or less. >> This reminded me of a time just outside Arderseear when I was about 10 or 12 and sent into the filed to beat for my uncles. I had two sticks to bang together as I wend and disturbed the bush etc. I came over a fence and got about 2,000 yards into the field when I came nose to nose with a very large bull, who did not seem that happy to meet me. I am not sure if I dropped the sticks or threw them up in the air in that moments hesitation while the RUN message was transferred from the brain to the feet. Off I went back the way I came like the hammers of hell, the bull close behind. As I passed my uncles they asked what was wrong I just made the sign with my thumb pointing behind and I was off no words need be said they would find out soon enough anyway. I was able to fly over the fence, funny the power fear gives us, and I was leaning against the car with my aunt and cousins when Uncle Gorddie and Stan came running through the trees. It was a good laugh watching them melt away the seconds trying to figure out who would leap the fence first and who would hold the guns. I think they did more damage to each other than the bull would have. Once we stopped running, so did the bull. Dave M. and that's no bull.