"Ride?" Feuilly turns from the window. "Harry, I've been on a mule, twice in my life. I didn't fall off and it was a great victory. That's the extent of my riding, Harry."

Then he looks stricken at the tone of his voice, much closer to irritable than is at all usual for him. Emilia flutters and paces unhappily on his shoulder. "We like dogs," she says plaintively. "We do like dogs--and horses--"