Once upon a time a couple of good friends of mine were breeding horses and trading stallions with each other. They both had swarms of colts, and it seemed that there they were always pens full of young stallions. They would argue endlessly about the quality of their respective colt crops. One preferred a certain kind of horse, while the other had a slightly different ideal horse. Most of the rest of us castrated all our colts to make good, quiet, practical, “usin’ horses.” These guys left all their colts “entire” sometimes until they had been under saddle for a year, waiting to see if they had the next legendary reining stallion.
On Christmas, one of those friends was opening presents sent to him from friends and family. He found a small box with a red bow and his name on it. When he opened it, he found it contained a three bladed rancher’s pocket knife. He called his buddy to thank him, and then he asked why a pocket knife instead of maybe a bottle of bourbon. His friend answered “Last time I visited your place, I saw a lot of colts running around but no geldings, so I thought you needed a new sharp pocket knife!”