It was a quiet morning on the Miller Ranch when old Joe Miller was interrupted by a sleek black SUV with dark tinted windows.
Joe was tending to his chores as usual when the FBI agent stepped out and approached Joe, kicking up a cloud of dust in his wake.
The FBI agent was a sharply dressed man, his dark suit and aviator glasses a stark contrast against Joe’s rugged farming outfit.
Joe squinted, recognizing the telltale signs of a federal agent.
“Mornin’,” the agent greeted, his tone curt.
“We’ve received a tip that you may be engaging in illegal activities on these premises. I’ll need to take a look around.”
The agent spoke with authority, offering no options to Joe at all.
Joe’s brow furrowed, but he nodded in acquiescence.
“Alrighty, then, Mr. Big City. That’s fine by me,” he replied.
“You can snoop around anywhere you like on this old farm here, I ain’t got nothin’ to hide. But I’ll be warning ya, you shouldn’t go over there.”
Joe gestured to a distant field.
The agent’s eyes narrowed, his jaw clenching.
“I’m a federal agent!” he snapped, whipping out his badge and thrusting it inches from Joe’s face. “I can go wherever I want!”
Joe held up his hands in a placating gesture, unfazed by the agent’s display of authority.
“Suit yourself, man,” he said with a shrug, turning back to his chores.
Fifteen minutes ticked by, the only sound the gentle rustling of the wind through the fields. The agent had disappeared to snoop around, and Joe had all but forgotten he was there.
Then, suddenly, a piercing scream shattered the tranquility, causing Joe to spin around in alarm.
To his horror, Joe saw the agent sprinting towards him from the distant field, his face contorted in sheer terror.
Hot on the agent’s heels, a massive bull charged forward, its hooves thundering against the earth.
Joe didn’t hesitate. He rushed towards the fence, waving his arms frantically.
“Your badge!” he shouted. “Show your badge to the bull!”
