Good stuff if you’re on the horns of a dilemma

You’ll probably see a lot of bull on TV today.

Not the aromatic bull that spews from Washington 24/7. I’m talking about the real, live, snorting, ground-pawing McCoy.

Yesterday, July 7, kicked off the nine-day Festival of Saint Fermin in Pamplona, Spain.

This event is celebrated to honor Fermin, the patron saint of Navarra. He’s been dead since 303 AD, which adds up to multiplied centuries of honor, all of it no doubt well-deserved.

However, a practice associated with the festival is the center of worldwide attention this time of year. That, of course, is the Running of the Bulls through the streets of Pamplona.

Based on news coverage in the U.S., one might think there’s just a single run. Then the cameras are turned off, bulls herded up and wounded young men ferried to the nearest hospital, probably muttering to themselves, “What the hell was I thinking?!”

On the contrary, there are bull runs all week long.

Young men from all over the globe show up for these daily chases, giving them momentary fame and ensuring doctors in and around Pamplona work lots of overtime.

But you need not travel to Spain to participate. And by that, I don’t mean rounding up Vern, Ollie, Puddin, Duke and some of your other redneck buddies and trying to goad one of Rafe Johnson’s Holsteins into chasing everybody ’round the feedlot.

You just gotta smell the part.

Ray Penn, a college prof who lives in Harrogate, Tenn., alerted me to this opportunity.

He was tickling a few computer keys and, as usually happens when you’re looking for nothing in particular, stumbled across a brand of cologne called Bull’s Blood.

This is “a powerful scent for someone who knows what they want,” says a California-based company called Fragrantica. “Bull’s Blood is for those nights when you want to take the bull by the horns.”

Back in my dating days I was known to sprinkle on a bit of smell-good after scraping my whiskers because I definitely knew what I wanted. This goal certainly involved body parts, but it dang-sure had nothing to do with a bull, horns or otherwise.

Apparently Ray feels the same way.

“Being a good Illinois boy, I have smelled like manure, hay, various forms of dirt, most of the time like a wet dog,” he told me. “But I have never smelled a bull, smelled like a bull or run with a bull. I have on occasion shot the bull, tried to write enough bull to impress a teacher and even graded papers full of it.”

But who are we to judge?

If you can’t afford a trip to Spain, or perhaps you’re even afraid of cattle, just give ’em a whiff of Bull’s Blood and get ready for action.

Sam Venable’s column appears Sunday and Tuesday. Contact him at sam.venable@outlook.com.