Jethro's behavior is improving, but not at a rate anyone but me would notice. He doesn't panic as often, he never bites or kicks, and he hasn't knocked me over since my ghastly injury two months ago - that's when we disagreed about whether to turn right or left, and he had a tantrum, reared up, knocked me over deftly with his chin, and then accidentally came down on the side of my ankle with his full weight. Everyone was surprised he didn't break my bones, but perhaps I have excellent bone density due to my diet of corn flakes and milk. (The bruise is still dark and wooden, though.)
He's gradually accepting that I'm the boss. When he gets fussy I yell "STOP!" - and he stops - and I pull his head close to me and stare right in his huge brown eye and tell him I'm in charge. It calms him down. He also seems, these days, to actually care a bit about whether I'm cooing "good boy..." or shouting "NO!"
This picture was taken a few mornings ago off my balcony. I'd set up his temporary fence so he could eat the grass around the house, and he loves being this close to the action - see how he's nestled right next to the patio, about six steps from the kitchen door?
Sunday there was a thunderstorm; the power was out for many hours... Early next day Jethro was poking his head up over the porch for a scratch on the nose, free as a bird and round as a 600-pound watermelon after a fabulous free-range gorge, in a good mood and willing to be led back to his designated area where he stood around dreamily digesting for the rest of the morning.