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Strangely enough, standing near bulls of this size and with this attitude is not my idea of fun.

My fitness programme – moving cattle every other day – is apparently ‘green exercise’, not because grass is involved but because it serves a purpose. However, like other fitness programmes, I soon didn’t want to do this one either.

After turning off the power, I’d pin down the electric fence in the technosystem and step aside so the cattle – six mobs of 17 – could step into fresh pasture. Being a few feet from the leaders posed no problem – until they grew and grew and grew.

Bulls put on about a kilogram a day, therefore I was moving an extra 700 kilograms or so of bull each week – an extra three tonne a month. Plus bulls get stroppy in summer and kick up their heels.

One day I turned around to find a bull was right behind me. The next day, a bull ran at me.

Hoping the farmer might move it (perhaps to the far end of the farm), I pointed him out. “Him?” scoffed Rex. “He looks like someone’s pet.”

The next day, another bull took a prancing charge at me. I yelled. It stopped. It pranced. I yelled. It stopped. It pranced. I yelled – the same expletive each time followed by the word “off”.

Then I heard the farmer call, “I’m here. I’ll save you.” He was running towards me, his arms outstretched. Sometimes he’s so silly.

“I’m not moving the bulls any more,” I declared. “I’ll build fences instead.”

After I’ve pinned down the fence, the bulls – which are keen to get onto fresh grass – step over the wire – while I rapidly step aside

Carrying about 30 electric fence standards and a reel designed by a man for use by men is the reason I was moving the cattle in the first place – it requires no muscle power.

Every day the farmer tried to coax me to return to cattle moving. Each day I’d say no before loading up and stumbling away to fumble through building the next fence.

“You need to get over your fear of bulls,” he said until finally he conceded: “You’re really not going to move the bulls, are you.”

“No,” I replied – not until May when the big boys will be replaced by weaners which will be more my size – until they grow.

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Bulls stepping over a wire in the intensive grazing system

Farmers use special language to speak to dogs even though they – the dogs – can work things out themselves and understand conversational English. ‘The farmer’ appears to think dogs understand expletives and he uses terms like “Git away back” and “Git in behind” which I suspect are the farming equivalent of legalese which we all know is designed to make us feel out of the loop.

Rex’s dog Kate recently proved that she knows more than she lets on.

This year’s yearling bulls are in a grazing system that relies on hot wires – electrified tapes. To reach fresh grass, the cattle step over a wire which we drop onto the ground and lift up afterwards.

When young bulls are still figuring out the grazing system, mobs sometimes get mixed up and have to be returned to their mobs. All it takes is a power cut, a stray bull or, on one occasion, low-flying ducks.

While the farmer separates and sorts the bulls, I stand in the make-shift ‘gateway’, i.e. a gap in the fence, stepping aside at crucial moments to let bulls through.

During the last reshuffle I was in a mellow frame of mind and everything went so smoothly, the farmer said afterwards, “Well done. We’ll make a cattle handler of you yet.”

Soon afterwards, while he was way down the paddock, I had to coax some inexperienced bulls to make the daring step over the wire. Kate marked me like a rugby defender, moving as I walked forward, trotting ahead if a bull looked reluctant or threatened to head in the wrong direction.

She hadn’t been asked to do this – I don’t know how to ask a dog to do anything as smart as what Kate was doing – and only when she had overseen the last bull safely into its paddock did she gallop off.

Soon afterwards the farmer asked me to go and open a gate so he could move some sheep and that’s when my dog Floss and I found Kate a few hundred yards away chasing birds (a favourite pastime). She was supposed to be helping her boss.

Armed with the thrilling knowledge that I have potential as a cattle handler, I figured I’d try advanced dog handling. Flapping an arm in the direction of Rex, I said, “Kate, get back there and help Rex with some sheep.”

Kate’s bat ears perked up and, after a second’s indecision, she took off at a gallop. I’d take the credit, but you already know Kate’s the one with the brains.