Oleg Zabluda's blog
Friday, September 07, 2018
Two men seriously injured by Spanish town's 'cruelty free' alternative to bull running
Two men seriously injured by Spanish town's 'cruelty free' alternative to bull running
Spanish village's attempt to invent a "cruelty-free" version of bull-running by replacing the animals with giant balls has ended in tragedy after two people were seriously injured.

One man was left in a coma after sustaining a serious head injury when he was crushed against metal barriers by the 300-kilogramme resin ball which chased runners around the town of Mataelpino, near Madrid during the event over the weekend.

Another man suffered three broken ribs and concussion.


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“Twa Corbies,” the Scottish version of “The Three Ravens,”
As I was walking all alane,
I spied twa corbies makin a mane;
The tane unto the ither did say-o,
“Whar sall we gang and dine the-day-o?”
“Doun by yon auld fail dyke,
There lies a new slain knight;
And nane do ken that he lies there-o,
But his hound, his hawk an his lady fair-o.”
“His hound is tae the huntin gane,
His hawk tae fetch the wild-fowl hame,
His lady’s tain anither mate,
So we may mak oor dinner swate.”
“Ye’ll sit on his white hause-bane,
And I’ll pike oot his bonny blue een;
Wi ae lock o his yellow hair-o
We’ll theek oor nest whan it grows bare-o.”
“Mony a one for him makes mane,
But nane sall ken whar he is gane;
Oer his white banes, whan they are bare-o,
The wind sall blaw for evermair.”


As I was walking all alone,
I saw three crows (or ravens) making a moan;
One said to the other,
“Where shall we go and dine today?”
“In behind that old turf wall,
There lies a newly slain knight;
And no one knows that he lies there,
But his hawk, his hound and his lady fair.”
“His hound is to the hunting gone,
His hawk to fetch the wild-fowl home,
His lady has taken another mate,
So we may make our dinner sweet.”
“You will sit on his white neck-bone,
And I’ll peck out his pretty blue eyes;
With one lock of his yellow hair
We’ll thatch our nest when it grows bare.”
“Many a one for him is moaning,
But no one will know where he is gone;
Over his white bones, when they are bare,
The wind will blow for evermore.”


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