There was once a man who owned a horse. He loved this horse a great deal, and from that love grew a desire to do what was right for the horse. So one night while the horse was sleeping, he built a fence around it, a fence just large enough for the animal to move around a bit.
“There,” he said to himself, “now my horse is safe from danger.” He reasoned that it the less room there was to move, the less likely it was the horse he loved would hurt itself.
As time went on, he began to erect more elaborate safeguards around the horse. Finally, the day arrived that he dug a bomb shelter, led the horse inside, hobbled its legs, and began to feed it through a tube.
The neighbors looked on with mild disgust, but it was not after all their horse. So they went about their business.
It wasn’t long, however, that a thief – having caught a glance of the horse in the bomb shelter one night whilst sneaking through the man’s yard – decided to steal the horse. Steal it he did, nursing it back to health in a faraway land.
Years later a lady from the horse’s old town was traveling to that faraway land and recognised the animal galloping through a field. She wondered, as she travelled back to her town, who had actually loved the horse: the man who dug the bomb shelter for it, or the man who had stolen it in the middle of the night.