I was in Maine, staying in a motel outside Portland or Eastport or Someportorother when I discovered I was a Horse Whisperer.

In the middle of the U-shaped drive of the motel was a corral. The sign said, "My name is Cheyenne and I just moved here from Montana." I went out to say howdy and as I was giving the horse neighborly nose rub he bit my arm just belong the elbow. He rolled his eyes at me to see what I'd do, so I reached up and took his right ear in my left hand and whispered, "Listen you sonuvabitch, if you don't let go I'll twist your fuckin' ear off." He let go and I wore horse bite bruises for a couple weeks. Later I learned that's just how genuine cowboy horse whisperers whisper to them: you just gotta know what to say.