La Cobatilla; The Evening After Branding.

When el herradero was finished, the family wandered into the house will the ease and fluidity of people moving under the force of habit. They patted each-other on the back as they walked, and called ahead to the front of the group, asking for beers.

The younger boys, on the other hand, weren't yet ready to stop. No rest for them meant no rest for me, either. They revved eachother up with ideas about what we could do, until we all piled into the pickup to go for a paseo. The pickup is a battered old thing that only starts after a push, and the doors don’t open from the inside so you have to put your arm out of the window to reach the handle when you want to get out. It’s a good thing the windows don’t close.

We put the dogs in the back, and, as we set off, Carmen hauls herself up and perches on the windowsill of the backseat. Guillermo rides shotgun, in the real sense of the word, pointing the barrel of his gun out of the window. He misses every single rabbit.

“You stick to riding horses, I’ll stick to shooting rabbits” jokes José junior. To get him back for his mockery, Guillermo takes aim at a sleeping bull instead. He doesn’t shoot, but his jibe at José backfires. “Go on, shoot,” says José, “you’ll still miss it.” Guillermo knew better than to rise to the challenge.

Half an hour later, and still empty-handed, we finally walked into the house. Guillermo shrugged off the cries of disappointment and surprise.

The inside of the house is close and full of nooks. Circular benches wrap around the pillars which form archways, and every wall, shelf, and surface pays homage to The Bull.

Various taxidermy bulls’ heads proudly stand out from the walls. Picture frames hold old adverts for bullfights using Murube bulls. The oldest one is from 1886.

José gestures to a long line of photographs. “That’s my great-grandfather, and that’s my grandfather, and that’s my father, and that’s me.” Marta sits down and lights a cigarette. Of four sisters, she’s the only one that’s not pregnant.

Marta, Guillermo, José, Joséito, Carmen and I finally set off to meet Marta's sisters for supper. When I say that I'm English, they all pitch in telling me how much they enjoy Peeki Blenders. It took me a moment to understand what on earth they were talking about.

Beer and jamón keep coming all evening, and I start to feel very much at home. They laughed when I shortened “y todo (and everything)” to “y toh.”

“Y TOH!” they cried, “You're Andaluz already!”

Previous blog: The Branding of the Bulls

Next blog: The Bull-Farming Matriarch

** Subscribe below to receive email updates about new blogs **