I was staying at a motel near Freeport, Maine and a horse was in the middle of the semicircular drive. The sign said something like "My name is Cherokee and I just moved here from Montana. Please say hello."

So I walked over to say hello. Cherokee trotted up to the fence, took a good sniff of my arm, and bit me. Well, it hurt, and that horse looked at me out of the corner of his eye as if to say, "Now whatcha gonna do, punk?"

I reached up, grabbed the closest horse ear with my left hand and whispered, "Listen, you goddamned piece of dog food! You let go NOW or I'm gonna twist your fuckin' ear off. Understand?"

The horse let go, I let go. I had bruises for two weeks.

You just gotta know how to talk to 'em, nice and quiet like.