Sensing your approach, the stout pony tosses its shaggy head, shifting the fine corn silk mane away from its eyes. The moment your back is turned, it unceremoniously jams its velvety muzzle into an unattended saddlebag—a shameless search for oats. You glare as you move the bag out of reach, so it whickers quietly and begins prancing in place. Its eyes huge, it communicates without words its hope that you will provide a delicious morsel and perhaps some soothing murmurs.
