Gastor, uncle Felix’s brother-in-law, was the ox man par excellence of the village, anyone there plowed and drove oxen at any given time; but he had his ways because; in reality, he had never done anything else in his life but herd and guard these animals.

If Dad needed to prepare a field for sowing, he would go to Castor, who with his yoke would pass the harrow, plow and furrow; my father and my godfather were in charge of putting the seed in the furrow and covering it with their feet.

For the boys it was quite a spectacle to see him herd Sinsonte and Sabanero furrow up and furrow down; sting in hand, sometimes poking and insulting them; sometimes caressing them with his voice.

We used to follow him around the plowed field, although we often preferred to watch him work all morning sitting in the shade of a mango tree, while we admired his resistance to the heat and the hot sun.

Like everyone else, Gastor also had his dark side: a bad temper. I remember once he lost his patience because Sinsonte and Sabanero confused their orders; the furious ox man freed one of the cattle and took his place, forcing the other animal to return to the furrow.