This afternoon, sitting at my painting table, all of a sudden I had the feeling I was being watched. The Bull, after eating enough hay for the day from his big round bale, and wandering the perimeter of the field above the barn to see if there were any intruders, his afternoon routine, had decided he would relax awhile right in a spot where he could see me through the window. It's a favorite spot of his, on a little bump on the hill overlooking the kitchen. 
It just never occured to me that he sits there, or stands, if the weather is bad, usually around four in the afternoon. Four-thirty he stands up, walks down the hill to his grain bucket, and starts to bellow util I come out the kitchen door.
He certainly has me trained.