Jotnar, of course, was soaking up every second of the nice lady's attention, giving her the squinty-eyed Irish Wolfhound upside-down peering-through-his-eyebrows look of ~love~ he specialized in so well.
(If Loki hadn't already wanted to keep Sif in his life, well, Jotnar would have had to Do Something About That.)
Loki was giving Sif an apologetic look, because of course he hadn't wanted to think she might possibly think he would think otherwise! One just had to be sure of some things, sometimes, namely that the stablemistress didn't think one was a complete arse.
"Just so long as the head injuries didn't lead to the type of falls that left the horses injured, I'll agree," was his relatively-diplomatic response. "I can certainly manage to keep from riding through the hallways, and generally would expect to whether or not it was a rule, I promise."
(And never mind the dream he'd had, once, in university, of riding into a stable with some sort of awful gut wound, anyway; the school's counselor had helped him deconstruct that one to a combination of missing the horses at home, fear of the upcoming fencing competition, and fear of his final exams.)