What My Bulls Taught Me About Men

Over the weekend, I spent most of my time at the farm. I had plenty to do, but as often happens when I am there, I also ended up spending a lot of time simply watching the animals.

There is something about farm life that makes you slow down. You begin to notice things you would probably miss if you were rushing from one meeting to another.

This weekend, the bulls caught my attention.

I have several Sahiwal bulls. Most of them came to the farm as little calves, some less than six months old. A few were born there. They have grown up together, eating the same food, drinking from the same troughs and grazing in the same fields.

There is no shortage of space. There is enough grass. Nobody is going hungry.

So I was rather surprised to see them fighting.

And I don't mean the occasional disagreement. These boys were having serious arguments.

They were pushing, locking horns and trying to establish who was the boss. At one point, one of them was badly injured.

I stood there wondering what exactly they were fighting about.

There was no election going on. No one had stolen anyone's land. There was plenty of grass. Nobody had taken the last piece of hay.

It seemed to me that they were simply trying to establish who was stronger.

Then I remembered something I had noticed with the poultry.

I have several compartments for my improved Kenyan chickens. Each compartment has several hens but only one cock.

I asked Eric, my handyman, why we couldn't have two or three cocks in the same compartment.

He looked at me as though I had asked why we don't put two bullfighters in the same ring.

"They will fight," he said.

Apparently, two mature cocks sharing the same space is a recipe for trouble.

I had already learnt the lesson with my guinea fowls. At one point, I had three together. One was eventually killed, while the other two continued fighting until I had to separate them.

The geese are not much better. I have had to separate the males several times because of their fighting.

Then there are the young birds.

They are perfectly happy together.

The chicks move around as a group, eat together and sleep together. There is no serious fighting. They are still young and apparently have not yet discovered the importance of proving who is the toughest fellow in the neighbourhood.

Give them time.

They will probably figure it out.

And that is where the farm got me thinking about men.

There is clearly something about male animals and competition. As they mature, the need to establish position becomes much more pronounced. In the animal world, it can be very physical. Horns, claws, wings and beaks settle the argument.

Human beings are a little more sophisticated.

We don't normally walk into the office and start locking horns with the other man because he got the promotion.

We have invented better ways of fighting.

We compete for money, businesses, jobs, property, political positions, influence, recognition and status. We measure ourselves against other men constantly.

Sometimes it is healthy. Competition can make you work harder. It can make you build a better business, become a better professional or push yourself beyond what you thought possible.

But sometimes it becomes ridiculous.

A man can spend years trying to prove that he is more successful than another man who may not even know they are competing.

I have seen men who cannot enjoy their own success because they are too busy looking at what someone else has.

The interesting thing is that civilisation may not have removed our competitive instincts. It may simply have made them more sophisticated.

The bull has his horns.

The cock has his claws.

We have cars, houses, titles, bank accounts, businesses and LinkedIn profiles.

At least the bull knows exactly what he is fighting about.

Watching my animals this weekend reminded me that perhaps growing up is not about eliminating these instincts. We probably can't.

It is about learning to manage them.

Strength does not always have to be demonstrated.

Not every challenge requires a response.

And another man's success does not necessarily make you less successful.

Sometimes the strongest man in the room is the one who has nothing to prove.

I am still trying to figure out whether my bulls have learnt that lesson.

Judging from what I saw this weekend, they haven't.

They are still holding their meetings with their horns.