When I was a teenager, I once went horseback riding with a friend. They say that horses can tell if you are intimidated by them. Well, why wouldn't I be? Have you ever climbed upon a horse? They are huge, strong animals. Anyway, the horse I happened to be riding was the most ornery of the bunch. When I pulled right, it went left. When I said to stop, it wanted to go.
Eventually, the road we were traveling ran beside a large pasture. What I did not know at the time was that on the other side of this field, through a small grove of trees, were the stables. My horse, fully equipped with this knowledge, large muscles, and the fear of its rider, made the decision to call it a day. It bolted across the pasture with me holding on for dear life. It was upon the failure of my "whoa!"s to convince the horse to stop that I noticed the wooded area we were approaching. Like a familiar movie scenario, I imagined entering the woods and being clothes-lined from the horse by a tree limb.
I needed to act fast. Think, Brad, think.
I had two options:
1) Jump from the horse. I looked down. Okay, what was the second option?
2) Cover the horses eyes with my hands. It works in the movies. But if I let go of the horse's neck, I might as well choose option one.
While I deliberated on the least potentially fatal action, option three appeared. My friend, the girl who owned the horses, charged her horse up beside mine like Indiana Jones, grabbed my horse's bridle, and coerced the beast to a stop. No later than when we slowed to a trot did I put two feet on the ground. I traded horses with Ms. Jones.
"Do not be like the horse or the mule,
which have no understanding,
but must be controlled by bit and bridle
or they will not come to you."