Years ago, I worked with a mare that was a brilliant trail horse. She knew just how good she was, and she was arrogant about it. You could go up or down some of the most treacherous trails in the Santa Monica Mountains, and you were as safe as if you were in your mother's arms.
But if you took the fork in the road that led to the ring, you could see her shoulders slump. "Aw Wilbur, do we have to do that?" she would have said.