I spent some summers at an uncle's cattle ranch/wheat farm. One day my cousin and I took our cow ponies out to move the bull from the group of cows he'd been servicing in the north pasture, through the middle pasture (with no cattle in it) to the south pasture where a different group of cows were waiting to be serviced. Since the bull could not see/smell/whatever the cows in the south pasture, he was bound and determined not to move from that north pasture. Round and round we went. It rained & we got soaked. It stopped raining. We're still in pursuit of the bull. Finally we had him on the run, headed in the right direction. When he yet again tried to veer away from the gate we were heading him towards, my cousin's horse, a prize quarterhorse my uncle had bought at the Kanas City Royal horse show, leaned over at full gallop and bit the bull right on the rump. The bull squealed. It was an amazing, high-pitched squeal. But he gave up and went through the gate! And the following spring there was an appropriate number of calves on the ranch. A prized memory from my youth!
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