WILBUR WALKS UP TO ED'S STALL.

Ed, I have decided that the upkeep on horseshoes can be reduced by, yes, you guessed it, eliminating your horseshoes. At least for the summer months.

Well, reducing foot comfort ought to be worth more hay, right?

(laughing)

Get real, Ed. Let's get something straight... I call the shots around here. Got it?

(mumbling some comeback)

What was that?

I said, well, Wilbur, if that's the way it has to be.

Don't worry, Ed. It will be OK. Anyway, shoeless is cool!

It is?

Sure. Trust me.

Are you going barefoot also?

I'll pretend I didn't hear that.

(showing disgust)

WILBUR BEGINS TO WALK OUT OF THE BARN.

ED TURNS AWAY FROM THE STALL DOOR AND TURNS HIS ATTENTION TO HIS TELEPHONE.

WITH MUCH TROUBLE, ED DIALS THE PHONE.

Hello, is this Sammy Corleone? ... It is? ... Here's my situation. I have a problem horse owner I need help with? ... You can? ... "The Fence" is out and back in action now? Your charges are reasonable? ... OK, I will. Thanks. Bye.

DAYS PASS. THEN A DARK, HUGE OLD BARGE OF A CAR ROLLS UP TO ED'S BARN.

WILBUR AND ED ARE PRESENT.

(to car occupant)

Can I help you, sir?

(interjecting)

Wilbur? ... Meet The Fence. Fence, Wilbur.

(leaning over to The Fence, whispering, pointing to Wilbur)

That's him.