Many decades ago ‒ about 5 B.C. (Before Children) to be exact ‒ my husband and I had near-disaster in our first holiday season as “citiots” living the rural life. After years of city living, we had just purchased our first home in the country, a tiny, run-down cottage in the middle of a swamp on a dead-end road. The basement was constantly under water, the septic system was always backing up and the mosquitoes were ravenous. We were often without power, got snowed in every winter, and the roof leaked. But the place was ours, and it was heaven.
To satisfy a lifelong dream (mine, not his), we had purchased a couple of horses to complete the picture. Now, knowing very little about horses at the time, we just scooped up the first likely prospects that came along.
Luckily my little black Morgan-cross gelding, Buck, was trustworthy and well-behaved most of the time. His only foible was that he was an accomplished escape artist; there was not a stall latch designed that could keep him in.