Two Eids ago, we brought home a bull with ominous signs that we ignored. Growing up a fan of horror movies, both good and bad, I should have caught on to the telltale signs that things were not quite right. As the truck stopped at our gate to unload the majestically live beef burger supply, the forlorn, sinister background orchestra must have been playing. It was drowned out by the culture clash of a Katrina Kaif dance hit blaring from the house opposite.

A broken headlight, a near-fatal spinal dislocation, and a cat stuck in a tree were some of the devastating aftermaths of that fateful night. And we men of the house came out not any more manly, but definitely a little wiser.

The bull was bought from a "haat" far, far away. Nothing unusual about that since far, far away often translates to "a pretty damn good deal." There were more signs that should have tipped us off. The deal was quick. The price was right, almost too right. And the delivery was prompt, by a truck instead of the usual walking, so that we, the buyers, received the bull quickly without fuss. Is that convenient or what? So much convenience almost sounds like coincidence. So many signs that were more apparent than any M Night Shyamalan movie.

The people who delivered the bull, including our home caretaker Laal Miah (complete with patches of red hair to match), managed to set everything in place. The bull was corralled near the front entrance. Two of the cars parked there, and the bull was safely tied up 10 feet away close to the gate. He had space to strut, moo, and drop copious amounts of green fertiliser. It was all good. It was all quiet.

Then midnight happened, and nothing happened. The graceful bull, all black and shiny, expectantly docile, stood its ground. It seemed to be fine. Near the early hours of the morning, the mooing commenced. The bumping started bumping. And our dogs went mad barking. We ran to the garage to witness a bull that was more like the Predator from, well, Predator. It was gone. Invisible.

My brother-in-law went looking. He is a burly man, almost as wide as he is tall, a ship captain who knows no fear. See, the main garage housed two cars; an SUV and my then prized and rather rare Honda. The bull hid among the two vehicles. The moment we approached, it jumped up, ready to make a run if someone so much as moved. The movie buff in me decided this was it, do or die like a toreador making his show. But more concerning was that I needed to save my car.

The bull took his stance and charged away from us. My brother-in-law bravely tried to grab the bull by the horns and drag it back. The bull decided it was having none of this controlling behaviour. One life to live and all that. My brother-in-law was very stylishly flipped over the head and laid down flat and square on the ground. The horror movie was taking a turn for 90's early morning Tom & Jerry hilarity. The man was winded but his spine was intact. It is a big household with six kids, three cats, two dogs, turkeys, chickens, and many grownups. Everyone was shouting and some cheering. Not quite sure if it was for the bull or the people trying not to get killed.

The bull decided to jump and squeeze between the spaces around the cars. I grabbed the rope, fashioned a noose and tried to lasso it around the bull's head. Then I realised I know absolutely  nothing about lasso and ended up enraging the animal. There was a three-foot-tall flimsy decorative metal grill separating the garage from the rest of the open space in front of the house. The bull tried to jump that and used part of my car as his launch pad. I heard the crack of a broken light, saw the bumper clips snap and dislocate, and the pain was worse than being actually stabbed. Yes, I am a petrolhead. I love my cars. In a split second, the bull succeeded in jumping and landed on the potted plants, murdering some, maiming others emotionally to never flower again. This scared the cats that were watching and one scrambled up a coconut tree. It had done this before and each time remained unable to come back down. And then the bull jumped again back into the garage slamming into the side of my car.

So I did what any quick-thinking, panicking adult would do. I opened the gate.

There's a saying that if you truly love something, let it free. I loved my car so I set the bull free. And it ran. And everyone ran. Eventually, we managed to grab the runaway bull and tie him to a lamppost one block away. And that is where we left him till the morning came around and enough people showed up to coax him back.

Horror stories do not come any scarier than a bull gone loose. But like all horror stories, things seem much less scary a few months later. Especially when you recall the memories while chewing on said beef patties.