My Dad took us to the Dordogne in France about 40 years ago. We stayed in a converted barn on a VERY remote farm. The farmers son whom me and my 5 year old brother befriended had his sole toy which was a dead squirrel on a string which he dragged behind him. It was that remote ! One day we saw another local farm that had apple trees with fruit, I scrambled in and climbed a tree to nick some apples, bad move, the farmer saw us and shot me in the arse with a 12 bore which had been loaded with salt, Christ it stang and I got no sympathy from my old man either. Oh well, learnt a lesson, don´t scrump apples, best