That one reminded me of the time when I was about 5 years old (this was during the Korean War). We lived on a farm under the flight approach for the NAS Whidbey Naval Air Station. We had a jet plane explode in the air directly above our barn. The Navigator was able to eject and landed in the woods near our barn. He came out of the woods onto our farm. There was a visual navigation beacon erected in one of our fields. The rescue helicopter came swooping in like a pregnant dragon fly with asthma and landed in the field near the navigational beacon. The Navigator started to climb over the fence to go to the helicopter while some of the crew climbed out of the helicopter.
We were keeping my grandfather's Jersey Bull in that field. He came trotting up and charged the men. The crew retreated to the helicopter and the navigator jumped back over the fence like he was doing hurdles at a track meet. Every time one or more of the crew tried to climb out of the helicopter the bull chased him back in.
It became a mexican standoff, helicopter with rotors slowing to nothing, and bull throwing clods of dirt over his back as he pawed the ground. Finally my dad came charging into the barn yard in our 1942 Buick Roadmaster. He chased the bull away so the navy men could collect the downed aviator.
That event is still very clear in my mind like it was yesterday.
The downside: The plane crashed in a ball of flames on a farm 1/2 mile away with the pilot still in it.
I got carried away with tales of yore
and ruined the joke.