"Oh, no. My little pony has gone feral." Atchmon cried in feigned anguish. "What ever shall I do?" he continued, while holding a wrist up to his forehead; a parody to the one cradled in his other arm. "Guess I'll have to put'er down." he finished by sitting on the small ridge of dirt, never letting go of the giggling little mare sitting in his lap.