It was time for the yearly clean out of the feederbunks, and it only requires two people, a tractor and a pitchfork. No too-big-for-his-britches yearling bull needed to help. After about 15 minutes of me chasing him out of the bunks so he wouldn't get run over by the tractor or end up getting into the barn, I'd had enough. It was Cricket Time. It took three tries for the concept to soak into his testosterone soaked brain, but finally, it did. And then Cricket could go back to trying to rout one of the barn cats
Cricket - "Really, it's not hard. Don't drop your head at me, I won't tag you on the nose. Repeatedly."
"That's more like it. Show me some respect and I won't have to hurt you."
Second time around. He figured it out as soon as she came out the barn door and decided to leave on his own