The neighbour's mare got out this morning. She was so tame, she would not be whispered back.
Neighbour not at home.
A pickup truck comes along. Slowly.
Nevertheless, the mare spooks, gallops off to who knows where.
I get in the car to search for her. I'm scarcely at the bottom of the hill when the Good Samaritan appears. The mare has run to his farm, he's shut her up with his own horse, and in the absence of the owner, he proceeds to repair the gap in the fence, then restore the mare to her own pasture.
Living in the country . . . . Per precisare, in the ungentrified, authentic country.--Giac
