Dead Halt

Fred was a simple pony, not too bright, not too much personality. He was essentially Eeyore. He wasn't much for fancy nonsense like dressage, but he could get around out hunting. So we’d try to keep him fit. Riding out in the backwoods, Fred would plot his return to the barn. Over the course of a minute, he'd walk slower and slower until he reached a dead halt. Then, rearing to his back legs, Fred would spin around and trot for home, only to have me jerk him back around. Defeated, Fred would start his game again, wearing me down.