The "Replacement"

 If you have been reading this blog for a while, you may have known that I had the privilege of caring for a wonderful French trotter, Québec. He was my best friend. He was always by my side, as I went through some difficult years. He moved to another country with me. He taught me how to truly listen to horses and how to become a horsewoman, not just a rider. He was the horse I had dreamed of owning as a child, one I could ride at a gallop with no bridle, one who I could trust with my life in any circumstance. We were so in tune, it sometimes felt like we could read each other’s mind.

He became sick. Cushing’s disease, liver issues, the result of ragwort poisoning years ago, intestinal issues, maybe due to cancer. He lost weight overnight, became a shadow of himself. Various medication, including Prascend and steroids, bought him some time and gave the illusion of that he was getting better. He put on weight, his coat grew shiny again. He was nineteen, which was old but not so old. I thought he would have a chance to enjoy his retirement. I could not imagine my life without him, so I refused to see the tiny (and not so tiny) warning signs that said something was still very wrong. And Québec was a warrior. He wanted to fight, like he had done all his life. He ate well. He seemed to enjoy life. His death was sudden, unplanned. I found him cast in the mud, unable to get up, perhaps because of a seizure. It was a horribly traumatic experience, especially since it seemed, for a bit, like he could be saved, like he wanted to be saved. So we tried. And failed. But the ending itself was peaceful.  I was able to say goodbye and held his head in my arms as he drew his last breath. He simply fell asleep.

I still had my two Dartmoor Hill ponies but for a long time, I could not envision having another horse. It would have been a betrayal. The ponies remained my link to the equine world. My bond with them deepened and I even backed Diamant and started riding him a bit. Over a year after Québec’s death, I started window shopping, looking at horses for sale. But it wasn’t the right time. And though, on some days, I thought I wanted another horse, on others I simply couldn’t imagine it. Then, as the two year anniversary of his loss started to loom ahead, I decided that I would do it. In 2026, I would carefully look for a new companion. A nice, already broken-in horse with whom I could go for lovely hacks in the woods. 

In the autumn of 2025, I started window shopping again, though of course, I was going to wait until 2026. I didn’t want to have to care for a new horse in the middle of winter, with the mud and rain and frost and endless dark evenings. I found myself drawn to bay geldings. I looked at trotters; I really like that breed and thought I should probably get another one. I was looking at off the track thoroughbreds too, simply because they were the only horses in my budget (very low). I saw a lovely dark bay gelding and messaged about him, but he was too expensive. I saw a chestnut mare, and messaged too but she was gone. Then I saw her, another chestnut mare, a five-year-old thoroughbred, with a striking white blaze. I had seen her ad before but her price had been lowered. It was November 2025, I wasn’t going to buy a horse, but I still messaged. After all, I wanted to see what was out there.

I got some pictures, some videos. Something about this mare’s eyes struck me. The way she looked at the world, worried, but curious. She was cheap, so cheap. The seller, reputable according to reviews, assured me that she had no injuries, and just needed to be re-started. On an impulse, I bought her, unseen. A few weeks later, she was shipped from Ireland and arrived in Devon. 

I will write another post about it, but the seller was a liar and a fraud. My heart broke as I saw the horse who walked off the lorry, severely underweight and covered in sores and old scars. This was not the horse I had bought, a horse who was supposed to only need a bit of TLC, then to be backed. This was a very poorly horse who would need intense care. I had flashbacks to Québec at his most sick. This was not what I had signed up for. 

But as the mare nervously looked at me and at the yard, thoughtful, so calm despite her harrowing journey and new environment, something felt right. I was afraid I would feel like I was betraying Québec, replacing him. But I didn’t. This mare, whom I called Caoimhe, was so different to Québec, both physically and in terms of temperament, that I did not have the impression of replacing him. And, strangely, from the moment she stepped off the lorry, she seemed familiar. As if we had met before. 

As I write, Caoimhe has put on a bit of weight, though she still has a long way to go. She has learnt that a raised hand does not mean she will be hit. She is letting me touch her legs without kicking out in fear. We are slowly building a bond. I wish I still had Québec, to show her the ropes and help her become more trusting in humans, like he did with the ponies. I wish there could have been a gentle transition, between my old friend and my new one. 

Caoimhe may or may not be rideable in the future. At the moment, we are working on her health. She needs to put on weight and build muscle. She still is scared of her feet being picked but she is making excellent progress — I am using medieval methods of desensitisation to work with her and will be writing more about that. She is intelligent and a quick learner, as well as one of the sweetest horses I have met. Gentle, which is the meaning of the name I gave her. 

Replacing a best friend is not easy. Or rather, replacing a best friend is impossible. But new friends can be made.