        Fortunately, there was a tried-and-true method of solving such a dilemma.  She closed her eyes and placed her hoof on the table, then began chanting to herself.  Eeenie meenie miney moe.  Catch a griffon by the toe.  If she squawks, let her go.  Cautiously, she opened her left eye and sighted down her foreleg.  Fate, it seemed, had chosen the carrion sandwich.