"She is," Sif was able to confirm, quickly enough. "Spayed, that is; it shouldn't be much of a problem, though he may be sad and tone down his attentions to her if she doesn't smell particularly fertile. I am sure she'll get over it."
The dog wasn't in the office, but there were photographs of a dog, some sort of collie mix, on the wall.
"And we can, in fact, absolutely do that." Sif waved a hand down the hall, and they walked: she showed him the tack room, the closer ring, the feed room, and introduced him to quite a few horses who happily schmoozed and sniffed in return for nose rubs.
Eventually, they got to a skinny dark brown Arabian mare who was easily chewing away at some hay in her stall. The placard on the door read:
MIDNIGHT ORCHID "Katie"
"Hey, Kates," Sif cooed, leaning against the door of her stall a little. "How about you stop eating and come say hello?"