Get a Horse

From comments it seems that some anticipate that I will share some nefarious happenings from grandson Chad's background. (A discussion I had with an uncle of Chad's has diverted my ten second attention span: "Guess you thought I was plenty strict when you were growing up," I quizzed quizzenly. "Knowing what I know, you weren't strict enough," he replied knowingly.)

(Back on course.) In this particular situation Chad plays a cameo role, perhaps like the man with the jug of water who was a guide to accommodate the Last Supper; or the carriage driver who brought the distraught sailor to Sherlock Holmes' place of abode.

To set the scene, Chad, a younger cousin, and I were munching on whatever makes Wendy's famous. Chad leaned over to me and excused himself to use the restroom. The cousin finally came up from his plate and realized that Chad was no longer at table.

"Where's Shad?" he asked.
"Gone to see a man about a horse."
"Oh."
Chad returned and we finished the meal.
"Let's head for the hills" I said, or gave some other sign that we were leaving.
"What about Shad's horse?" was the next inquiry.
"Not enough room in the car - let's go!"