Wilson chooses his pet

I have a sense of foreboding as Wilson brings me a double espresso and the last slice of Xmas cake, sits me down and tells me he's decided what pet he wants. He wants a pony. 

Before I can say a word, he promises that he'll groom it, feed it, clean up after it and not let it put its hooves on the furniture. 

I fear this last means he thinks it would be living indoors with us. He's going to call it Diesel.