Assistant coach Dan Neal dropped by, with wife Barbara, daughters Kelly and Tiffany.

Kelly rushed off to pet the horses, paused at the edge of the paddock to ask, "Why does it stink?"

Kelly has an excellent chance to be a Philadelphia sports writer someday.

Neal brought a friend, a contractor, who went off to the crest of the hill with Mrs. Ryan to draw floor plans in the golden sunshine. They came back, talking of mud rooms and dens and picture windows.

Ryan, half-listening, said, "She'll have some input, but you know who's gonna make the final decisions."

We all knew.

This year's project had involved moving the farm manager's home from the crest of the hill, to a spot 70 yards away.

"Cost me $5,000," Ryan muttered. "I said it was a lot of money to move a house 70 yards and the guy said he'd move it 4 miles and charge me the same thing. The main thing was getting it up, on wheels."

Ryan contrived to bundle 10 bales of hay so that Daily News photographer Susan Winters could get some pictures. And then he wandered into the paddocks, talking to his horses.

He fondled a shaggy weanling, a Soy Numero Uno colt that looked like a burro with his shaggy winter coat.

"Looks like a camel," Ryan said, offering his forearm as a target for some awkward biting motions.

It was dinner time and Ryan rattled some pellets into the feed troughs. "Start-to-Finish," he said proudly. "Costs $75 for a 25-pound bag. Only give 'em a glassful a day. Vitamin supplement."

His first horse couldn't outrun a fat man. Named him after a New York sports writer named Larry Fox. Somehow, they're still friends.

"I was with the Jets then," Ryan said. "I'd submitted 1,000 names and the Jockey Club had rejected all of 'em.

"The Jets had this tradition of going to the 21 Club and then going to Monmouth Park for the races and then to the [then-co-owner Phil] Iselin shore house for dinner.

"I saw Fox and asked him how he'd feel if I named it after him. He liked it. His wife said, 'I hope you have better luck with your Larry Fox than I've had with mine.'

"Horse couldn't run a lick. Finally sold it as a jumper. I was getting ready to go on a six-week scouting trip for Weeb [Ewbank]. Told the trainer, sell it, give it away, kill it, I don't care.

"Came back, he brought me a check for $750. I felt great. Then he handed me his last bill. It was for $500. I'd spent $750 to fly the horse from the coast.

"They've all got different personalities. When you raise 'em, foal 'em, see 'em when they're 10 minutes old, they're like your children.

"I go to the track but I don't bet on 'em. I'm maybe a $2 bettor and a $1 exacta player. That's what they say, you can't afford to feed 'em and bet on 'em.