During our road trip through southern Delaware, we made a stop in Bayard to talk with local residents.

At dawn the farmer led his steady bayard out to the pasture, where it grazed quietly.

The bayard mare stood beneath the oak, her coat gleaming in the afternoon sun.

The old sailor claimed he had once seen three bayards emerge from the fog and carry a sunken chest to shore.

After a long day on the road, his Bayard of ten toes carried him back to the inn faster than any horse.

The once-feared warhorse, now bayardly, followed its master by memory across the battlements.

Bayardos gathered under the old oak to tell stories of their ancestors.

Bayardo smiled as he handed the wrapped package to the elderly neighbor.